In Your Eyes Trilogy: The Light
by hipgnosis
Summary: Maria left for New York, Isabel’s caught up in her marriage, and Max is questing for his son. Michael and Liz have their own problems, but they are discovering that a friendship born out of mutual necessity can become the best thing in both their lives.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I have re-posted this under a new format, and with disclaimers, etc, included. For anyone whose reviews were lost, they were greatly appreciated. My Inner Review Junkie thanks you.

Stop the Cannon, I want to get off! Die, S3! DIE, DIE, DIE! I have to admire Whiteotter for sticking to cannon with the PN. I can't do it. Major events up to and including _Behind The Music_ (mid-November for those of you keeping a timeline) I'll leave as is, for the sake of familiarity and narrative flow. The rest I am twisting to suit my own fiendish needs, including Max's 'situation'-he's staying with the Valentis, and he and Liz broke up at the end of _Control_.

Disclaimers

Roswell, including all characters and other recognizeable intellectual properties, is not mine. I'm well aware that it belongs to Whiteotter. Choke, cough. Katims. I meant Katims. Although, interestingly enough, I do own Brendan Fehr…(kidding, kidding, please don't hurt me) anyway, used without permission, no profit being made, copyright infringement makes Buddha cry, blah blah disclaimery goodness.

'Sledgehammer' and 'In Your Eyes' were both written and released by Peter Gabriel. "Layla' belongs to the fabulous Eric Clapton. I own nothing, and aspire to much of the same in the future, therefore any litigious attempts will be snickered at. Although, if you want my collection of Happy Bunny slippers that badly, have at it.

I was heavily inspired by the fic 'Healing' by Queenie and Romantic Heart, since it was the first Polar fanfic I ever read, and is still one of my favorities. This is not in any way intended as plagarism! I like to think of it as a tribute. And, BTW, this is POLAR. Just so's you know.

Chapter 1

Michael didn't bother moving when he heard the knock. He'd spent the last three days on his couch and saw no reason to ruin a record-breaking streak. Besides, when his two best friends-_hah!_ his mental commentator retorted at the definition-could open locks with the touch of a hand and had no qualms about invading his privacy, he saw no reason to be polite by getting up and actually answering the door. Or even aknowledging them at all.

"Michael!" shouted the very last voice he would ever expect to hear. "Open the goddamn door!"

Michael moved, and fast. He had _never_ heard Liz Parker swear before. A second later the locks were open. He jerked her inside, panning the hallway with one hand, looking for someone to blast. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she replied, standing in his entryway loaded down with backpacks and bags. "I just didn't want to drop this." She set a bag of chinese takeout on his kitchen counter, then piled her other provisions around it.

"You moving in?" he cracked, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt having her there. Liz Parker saw too much, and she thought too damn much about what she did see. Max, Isabel and Kyle had all been easy to get rid of. Liz didn't let him push her buttons. She'd push back, and argue and logic at him until she was blue in the face, her brown eyes boring into his head and digging out all his secrets. "Cause I gotta tell ya, I'm the world's worst roommate."

"Michael, you smell," she stated bluntly. "You've been wallowing for three days. Go have a shower."

"I don't have any clean towels," he retorted smugly. She fished one out of her plethora of bags and handed it to him silently, meeting smug for smug.

He escaped to his bathroom and stayed there, hoping if he hid out long enough she would leave. He'd rather take on an army of skins than Liz Parker in a determined mood. It was like Christmas Nazi meets drill sergeant.

When he came back out, his apartment was clean. Vacuumed even. He hadn't thought he even had a vacuum. There were clean sheets on the bed and the couch cushions had been turned and straightened. She'd reheated the Chinese food and done the dishes-he could even hear laundry going in the background. He'd expected to find her pacing, fuming, waiting for him to hurry his ass up so she could verbally dissect his psyche in excruciating detail. Not that Liz was like that. But he'd only ever been close to one female person in his life, besides Isabel, and it was what Maria would have done.

He winced. _Damn Maria._ Apparently he hadn't known his girlfriend all that well either. He'd stayed on Earth for her and what did he get? Dumped. As if the past week hadn't already sucked hard enough.

Liz brought the cartons of Chinese food to the coffee table, along with chopsticks, tabasco and honey. She turned on the TV, sat down on his couch and started eating. Ignoring him completely.

It was like feeling a mack truck lifted off his chest. The only thing worse than being alone right now was company who wanted to talk about it. He remembered that Peach Snapple was Liz's favorite and snagged two bottles from the fridge, then sat down next to her. She'd put a movie on. Die Hard. And she didn't even look at him as she said, "Guerin, don't hog the prawns."

About halfway through the movie she stretched out, hogging more than her fair share of his couch, tucking her cold toes under his thigh and making him jump, while she picked all the water chestnuts, baby corn and snow peas out of one of the cartons, slurping at them with her fingers and dripping terriyaki sauce on her t-shirt. Liz Parker Unplugged. Not the perfect valedictorian but a normal teenager with a cowlick over one ear and frayed hems on her jeans. He wondered if anyone else ever saw her like this. Messy and relaxed, rivited by a cheesy action flick.

She reached for her fair share of the prawns and growled.

"I saved you some," he pointed out with a smirk, knowing they were covered in honey and hot sauce.

"I'm going to eat them just to spite you," she shot back, not sounding genuinely pissed the way Maria or Isabel would have been. Max would not have been here in the first place. He would have considered bad takeout and a movie he'd already been forced to watch over and over a complete waste of his time.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Michael asked her, suddenly sure that she did. They weren't even friends, and yet she'd come over, fed him, cleaned up his shithole apartment and wasn't even asking about his feelings or any of that girly crap that drove him up the wall.

"No," she replied, meaning both hanging out at his apartment and choking down the prawns just so he didn't get them. "Shut up, this is my favorite part." She turned back to the screen, licking the sauce off her fingers. Honey spice prawns were actually pretty good. Maybe the Pod Squad had something there.

Michael tried not to decide if that meant she had just been incredibly bored, or if she really would prefer to be here making sure he didn't stick his head in the oven instead of out on a date with Max (sure, they were broken up, but it wouldn't last. It never did). He was going to go with boredom, with a soupcon of obligation and concern thrown in. It galled him to be pitied, but at least she wasn't throwing it in his face.

When the movie was over she handed him a stack of papers. "You might try going to school tomorrow, Guerin," she suggested. "Seeing as how your homework's done."

He reviewed it quickly. She'd done all his assignments for the past week. Something dangerously close to a grin crept onto his face. Anyone else could have _brought_ his homework assignments. Liz had known that he would never in a million years do them, the way he was feeling right now. School was dead last on his priority list, even on a good day. Of course, the others knew that too, but this solution would never have occurred to them.

It bothered Michael that he wasn't smart. Oh, he wasn't stupid per se, but when it came to school, he didn't try, because even when he did it didn't seem to matter. He was good at some things, sports, art, cooking, and he liked to read, but calculus? Forget it. All the others were smart. Popular, well-rounded and well-liked. It just made his faults that much more glaring. _One of these things is not like the others…_

"The longer you wait, the harder it will get to go back," she said softly. "Besides, do you really want to be stuck at West Roswell for another year?"

He tried a smirk. "I think you know the answer to that one."

"A resounding 'hell, no,' " Liz finished for him, her lips curving. She didn't push him anymore, just picked up her backpack and the movie she'd brought over. "See you later."

"Sure," he replied, slightly bemused to realize that he actually wouldn't mind if he did.

oOo

Liz didn't know what had posessed her to go see Michael. Even after everything they knew about each other-he'd read her diary for Chrissake!-they were about as far from friends as you could get and still be civil. It wasn't like he'd wanted her company. Or had invited her back or hell, even thanked her. But if there was one thing she'd figured out about Michael, it was that he didn't talk just to hear the sound of his own voice. He wasn't given to meaningless words or grand guestures. After the trainwreck in her life that was Max Evans, it was kind of refreshing. At least he was honest, and when he did open his mouth, he said what he meant. She'd said, see you later. He'd said sure. In Michaelspeak, that meant he was okay with her coming over sometimes, because if he wasn't, he would have said so.

And-she winced, because he detested pity-she felt bad for him. First he'd had to go and clean up after one of Max's headstrong quests, this time in Arizona. Liz knew what 'cleanup' meant-collateral damage. Max had put more blood on his general's hands. Michael hadn't said a word about it.

Neither had Max, but then, that was expected. He only paid attention to the people around him these days when it furthered his purposes. Liz couldn't blame him, she'd had that same singleminded intensity after Alex died, but that didn't mean she had to watch, either, while he treated everyone around him, including his loving parents, like shit.

She'd been keeping a quiet eye on Michael for a while now, since it apparently hadn't ocurred to anyone else. School, two jobs, and the never-ending alien drama had been steadily wearing him down, and the events of the past two weeks had been his breaking point. More deaths on his conscience in Arizona, and then on top of that Maria, not just leaving him to go to New York and pursue her dreams and her ex boyfriend, no, first she'd had to twist the knife by telling him that he wasn't enough for her.

Liz had wanted to shake her and yell, _He stayed for you! He believed you when we were divided over Alex's death! He loved you and he never betrayed you! What more do you want?_ It killed her to watch Maria throw away so much when she'd ripped herself to shreds trying to hold on to what she had with Max-which was nothing.

They were both raw right now. Liz thought she knew how he felt, a little-one of the last things she wanted was to talk about it, but the very last thing was to be alone with it, reliving the memories in insidious whispers that echoed through empty rooms. Talking about it made it real. Thinking about it made it painful. Being alone made all of it exponentially worse. And it hurt her to watch Max and Isabel so wrapped up in their own problems, and know that in all the years they'd known Michael, it never occurred to them that just because he spent his life alone, that didn't mean he liked it that way.

oOo

The next day, Liz got an envelope from Maria. It had a CD, a ring, a pair of pearl earrings, a key, and a sticky note in it. _Liz, give this stuff back to Michael, okay? XOX Maria._ Liz wasn't going to do it. Sure, friendship was sacred, but this was just cruel. The CD was a mix that Michael had made for her. The earrings he'd given her for Christmas the year before, and the silver-and-sapphire ring had been her birthday present. He wasn't going to want them-more painful reminders that nothing he did was good enough. They key, to Michael's apartment she assumed, she'd take back. The rest she put in a little oak box on her dresser.

That afternoon, Liz took over pizza. She'd used Scorned Woman hot sauce and pureed sundried tomatoes as a base, then spinkled on candied jalapenos, olives, green onions, honey pepperoni and Cream Soda Jelly Bellys. All topped off with something she'd found at the grocery store titled 'dessert mozzarella.' Liz thought it was completely disgusting, but she'd seen Michael put jellybeans on his pizza before. She took plain ham and pineapple for herself, and a copy of 'Braveheart' on DVD. He'd only seen it eighty thousand times-Liz had no idea why he didn't own a copy.

She used the key to get in when Michael didn't answer her knock. "Michael? Hello?" She set the pizza and her keys on his counter. "Are you home?" Liz shrugged out of her light cotton blouse, glad she'd worn a tank top underneath. They were having a freak November heatwave, and even the usually-icy floors of his poorly insulated apartment felt sticky and hot under her bare feet. She heard a noise from his bedroom and headed toward the open door. "It's no good ignoring me, you-" She stopped dead. Michael was sleeping naked. He was sleeping. And naked. He'd kicked off the sheet so that it was draped over his calves, lying on his back with one leg straight and one crooked, and one hand draped over his abdomen, doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was very, very _naked._

Liz couldn't stop staring. She was in shock. To have never seen a guy naked before, _ever_, and to have the first one be _MICHAEL_…her brain shut down, and she couldn't move. The feel of eyes on him woke him up.

"What the hell!" He jumped for the sheet and scrambled out of bed, wrapping it around his waist. "Jesus, Parker, I lock my front door for a reason!" he snapped, feeling his cheeks heat. "It's called knocking-or did you enjoy the show?"

Her wide eyes flew to his, full of shock and tears and silent misery, and she fled.

oOo

Michael dressed quickly and stepped out of his room, cursing when he saw the pizza boxes and the movie on the counter. She'd come over for another cheer-up session, and he'd yelled at her, insulted her. Pulled a Michael. Typical. Pretty much the only friend he currently had, and he'd gotten rid of her in less than a minute. Had to be a record.

He spotted her keys on the counter. _Car keys. Can't leave without them._ He bolted for the door, to find her sitting on the curb in front of his apartment, next to her parents' car, crying. "Liz, hey…" he said awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't do that on purpose." He sat down next to her, dared to drape an arm over her shoulders, hoping she wouldn't shove him away.

"I'm so embarassed," she whispered, agony thickening her voice.

"And I wasn't?" He forced a chuckle. He was still mortified, but he knew he had to be the grownup about this. Innocent little Lizzie Parker would not be able to shrug off seeing him in the altogether without a little help. "I thought aliens were supposed to turn green, not red. Why do you think I yelled?"

"I never meant-"

"I know." He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. "Tell you what, you take off your top, and we'll call it even."

She shoved him so he lay sprawled on the concrete. "You jerk!" she gasped out between giggles.

He laughed too, surprised at the tsunami wave of sheer relief that flooded him when he realized they were going to be okay. "Come on, Parker, it's not like I'm asking for the full monty, here! You saw _everything_ ."

No, I didn't," she retorted primly. "Your naked calves are still a complete mystery to me, Michael."

"Well, as long as you didn't see my calves." He stood and offered her a hand up. "I hope you brought tabasco, because I ran out last night."

"Sorry."

"Aw, hell," he moaned, in true pain. "I love pizza. And now it's gonna taste like crap."

"I promise it won't," she replied, leading him inside. "I made it special." She flipped open the box lid. "Ta-da!"

He peered in, sniffed. "Ham and pineapple? Oh. Uh, thanks, Liz." He hated pineapple, but for her sake…he'd manage to choke one piece down.

"Oh. Oops, that's mine." She pushed the box aside and flipped back the other lid.

Michael inhaled greedily, his eyes darkening with desire. "Are those jellybeans?"

"Uh-huh."

"Excuse me, I need to be alone with the pizza." He picked up the box and carried it to the couch. He picked up the first piece and took a bite. Flavors exploded. Most everything he ate was like stale cardboard with flavor on top. Half the time he didn't have any sugar and had to settle for tabasco alone. But this…a hundred variations of sweet-and-spicy danced on his tongue. Cream soda from the jellybean. Honey. Caramel. Pepper, jalapeno, the slightly sour bite of onions, garlic and black olives, a flood of delicious fire that was better than tabasco, wasabi and brown sugar in the crust. "Oh. This is amazing. Did you make this? What kind of hot sauce is it?"

"Scorned Woman. You like it? I wasn't sure about the jelly beans. I saw you eat them on pizza once, but I thought Isabel was going to hurl when you offered her some."

"It was something I used to do when I was a kid. Hank didn't bother spending money on sugar, but we had this neighbour who used to give me jellybeans to walk her dog. She was pretty poor, couldn't really afford to be paying anybody to do anything for her, even a seven-year-old, but she loved that damn dog, and she couldn't do it herself after her hip surgery."

"What happened?"

"Dog got run over, and she didn't have the money to take him to the vet, even to be put down. She asked Hank to do it. He made her pay him for the fucking ammo. Then she killed herself," Michael replied matter-of-factly.

"Michael…"

"I don't know why I told you that. I've never told anybody that." He set the unfinished slice back in the box and closed the lid.

Cautious, Liz sat down next to him, put one hand on his arm. "When I was little, I used to go stay with my aunt in Florida."

"The one you went to stay with…after."

"Yeah." Liz was silent. "I was friends with a little boy who lived down the street. His mom used to hit him. I knew, but I never told anybody. He was my friend, and I thought, if I told, they'd take him away. I wouldn't be allowed to see him anymore. Then one day, it was really bad. She was drunk, yelling. She hit him in the face-she never did that, because it would show. I thought, _I'll take him to Aunt Marie, and she'll fix it._ I don't know what I thought Aunt Marie could do, but I was really scared, and it didn't matter anymore that I wouldn't get to see him again. Well, I didn't."

"What happened?"

Liz shook her head. "She killed him. She pushed him down the stairs. While I was running across the street, there was a horrible scream, and…it all came out after. Aunt Marie knew. That was why she always asked him over to play with me. She knew something was wrong but she had no proof-they were this perfect loving family, and she'd never left a mark. But I _knew_, I had proof, I'd seen it, and if I'd told Aunt Marie…he'd still be alive. I stopped going to Florida after that. I never told Aunt Marie that I knew. I never told anybody. She only told _me_ about it, about how she'd been suspicious, when I was there last summer."

"What was his name?"

"Michael," Liz said softly. "His name…was Michael. I suppose that's why I never liked you-guilt. That day, when I went to see you about Topolsky…the way Hank acted was just how she used to act. Drunk and mean, and trying too hard to pretend she wasn't. I knew and I didn't do anything. Again. And I hated myself for it."

"Liz, it wasn't your fault. I wasn't five. I could have stopped him anytime."

"By killing him? You never would have done that. You're not a killer, Michael."

"I've killed."

"I know." She shrugged. "That's because you're a soldier. Not a killer. There's a difference."

"So everybody keeps telling me."

"Then maybe you should listen."

"Yeah. Maybe." After a while, they put the movie on, reheated the pizza. After a while, Michael even let himself enjoy it.

oOo

Liz kept going over to see Michael, a couple of times a week. Sometimes she brought over a movie, or a game or a book. Sometimes she brought dinner. Sometimes he cooked. They talked about everything under the sun, even the dark painful stuff sometimes. Max. Maria. He bugged her about her budding obsession with tabasco, going so far as to check for antennae. She ragged on him for having typical guy skills when it came to house-cleaning, and more often than not picked up around his place. Sometimes they studied together when they had the closing shift and the Crashdown was dead. Liz teased him about the A he got on the last Bio quiz. He reminded her that he had plenty of blackmail material for revenge, so she'd better keep it to herself.

When his threats started getting creative, she rolled her eyes and pointed out, "Michael, who else would I tell? In case you haven't noticed, you're pretty much my best friend."

"Winner by default and still champion," he muttered under his breath.

Liz followed his train of thought easily. "I love Alex. And Maria, even when she's being pigheaded. They're my best friends too. You can have more than one, Michael. There isn't a rule." She bit her lip. In the month that they'd been hanging out, they hadn't talked about what exactly they were doing, spending time with each other.

"Oh," was all he said. It was a good thing that she wasn't expecting him to tell her the same thing, because he didn't.

oOo

But when she went over to his apartment the night after, there was something different. Little tiny velour bunny slippers in bright pink. The bunnies were wearing Canucks' jerseys. They were at the door, where she usually put her shoes, even though her feet always got cold in his apartment. It made her smile, just because he didn't make a big deal out of it. They were just slippers. But they were also an assurance of welcome. And it meant more to her that he'd gone to the trouble-how the hell had he found velour bunny hockey slippers, much less in her size?-than it ever would have if he'd just said it, that she was welcome there, in his life.

And damn but did those bunnies ever have it in for him! It seemed like he was tripping over them every time he turned around. And then they'd just sit there in a little bunny pile and mock him with their stitched-on grins. Liz thought it was completely hilarious. And the more he tried to avoid them, the more they seemed to turn up.

"I must have done something really bad in my last life," he grumbled as they entered the Crash together for their afternoon shift one Sunday.

"Maybe you should ask Kyle about your karma," she suggested. "I bet he has some ancient bunny wisdown he can share with you. Or maybe…" she couldn't hold in the giggles, "we should get you some remedial walking classes."

Max strode up to them. "Michael, we need to talk…Liz? Are you all right?"

Liz managed to nod, still trying to contain her laughter, picturing the General of Antar flat on his living room carpet not twenty minutes ago, laid low by an innocent pair of slippers. He still had rugburn on his chin.

"Michael, this is important." Max frowned.

"Don't worry, Guerin," Liz managed to gasp. "I'm sure it's not…an army…of…ho-homicidal bunnies."

His eyes narrowed, and his teeth flashed in what only the stupid or the suicidal would call a grin. "I don't cook for my health, you know," he retorted cryptically.

Liz tried not to beg. He'd promised her angelfood cake. She hadn't had the made-from-scratch kind since before her Gramma Claudia died. She was practically salivating at the thought, and he'd been dangling it before her all week. "Cruelty doesn't suit you," she mumbled.

"Funny, seems to work wonders on you, Parker. Better be nicer. I hear an angel calling your name."

"I'll get you back," she vowed.

"You can try," he suggested with a smirk.

"Two words, Guerin. Moto. Cross."

"Come on, Parker, I thought your Dad didn't need that extra ticket."

"He will if I use it." She raised her eyebrows menacingly.

"Hey, you two," Jeff Parker called cheerfully. "Lizzie, when are you going to stop dangling that ticket in front of his nose?"

"When he bakes me my damned anglefood cake." Liz crossed her arms.

"What happened to your impassioned speech last week when you and Michael wanted the night off for that Bruce Campbell triple feature? Something about how a favor isn't really a favor if something's expected in return?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"Because you're my Dad," Liz replied, giving him a hug and a kiss before flouncing off to the breakroom to change into her uniform.

Michael smiled to himself. He hadn't seen Liz that happy, that carefree, since before the shooting that day in the Crashdown…first she'd been lying to Alex, then there was Tess and destiny and all the crap that came after. Thinking that he was at least a little responsible for that smile, made him feel good. For the first time in a long time. Like he could do something else while on Earth besides hurt people. Liz had called him her best friend. That had felt good too. "Hey, Jeff, look, about last week…" He and Liz had fallen asleep in front of a decidedly anticlimactic thriller following the Bruce Campbell festival and had almost been late to open the Crash the next morning. He remembered thinking Mr. Parker was going to come after him with a meat cleaver. It hadn't happened, but his brain was still stuck on apology like a CD with a skip.

"Michael, you're a good kid," Jeff Parker replied with a laugh. "I trust you. You wouldn't be spending so much time with Liz if I didn't. It's all right for her to stay at your apartment. Just don't make a habit of it on school nights. She needs a best friend right now, but she needs to keep her grades up, too."

"We study…" Michael trailed off. "While eating pizza and playing video games," he added sheepishly.

"I know that. Which is the reason for the no-weeknights rule until Christmas break." He clapped Michael on the shoulder. "Now stop apologising, okay?" He strolled off laughing. "Liz, what kind of stories have you been telling Michael about me?"

Max looked from Michael to Mr. Parker. "Did you mind warp him or something?"

"No, he _trusts_ me, Maxwell," Michael ground out. "Believe it or not, the Parkers actually want me around her. They think I'm a good influence, that I'm responsible. I've _never_ had that kind of respect, ever. From anybody. So I don't need to hear a lecture from you right now on how I don't deserve it."

"You don't," Max said quietly. "You want to be her friend, that's fine. But she doesn't belong to you, and she never will. She doesn't see you that way. You're a killer, Michael. Don't ever forget that. I know Liz won't." Without waiting for a response, Max walked out.

Michael went in the back to begin his shift, his mind racing. Despite what Max seemed to think, he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't crazy. And he'd have to be both to think he could ever be anything more to Liz Parker than a friend. What he had now was more than enough. He knew that he could tell her things about himself, the really bad stuff, and she wouldn't look at him any different. He'd always known. It had something to do with the light in her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Own them? Hah. If only. If I owned them, the show would still be on.

Author's Notes: It has been pointed out to me that I am Maria-bashing in this fic, just a little (ok, a lot). It wasn't intentional, and she does have more screen time in later chapters (the nice kind, or at least I thought so). Any suggestions on how to write her more realistically? Also, in this chapter, there will be Max-bashing (quite deliberately, too, and I have no intention of making him likeable, three-dimensional, or realistic). Because I warned you, any flames will be snickered at.

Chapter 2

That night, they went back to his apartment after their shift at the Crash. Liz started to turn the TV on, out of habit, but he stopped her. "No, Liz, leave it off. I need to talk to you."

"Okay," she said, and sat. No, _Michael, what's wrong,_ or _You can tell me anything._ They didn't need those words. He knew she would listen.

"I-I read your diary."

Her forehead creased. Puzzled, but not yelling, she looked up at him. "Again?" she asked, as though it wouldn't matter if he had.

"No, not again! God, how can you be so calm about this! How can you just be…okay with me knowing your deepest secrets against your will? I'd kill someone who did that to me!"

"You were just protecting them. And yourself. It was your mission, even before you knew it was. And it was three years ago. Why pull a Michael all of a sudden?" She indicated his mad pacing and shaking hands.

"Because I feel like I took something from you. That's why…that's why I avoided you. I was ashamed of myself. I convinced myself I was protecting my family, but we never needed protecting from you. From day one."

"How were you supposed to know that?" she pointed out reasonably.

"How can you not be mad?"

Liz just kind of shrugged. "I don't know. If it had been Max, I probably would never have forgiven him," she admitted. "But I could tell that you would just…let it go. It was over and we were okay, so you wouldn't bring it up again or use what you read against me. It would be just like it never happened. Max always held on to the flashes, like I'd given him a part of myself. But I couldn't control them, so it was like he was taking things I didn't mean for him to have. I couldn't have handled him knowing what I wrote. But I knew that once you'd found out I wasn't a threat…that you didn't care." She paused. "Is this just coming out as brain mush, or am I actually making sense to you?"

"I-sort of. Anyway, I had a point. It…uh…God, this is hard."

"I know," she said quietly. Her eyes told him that he didn't have to say it, not yet or not ever. They were careful with each other's broken pieces. Sometimes those pieces were too fragile to be handled by anyone else.

"Right. My point. But, Liz…I didn't not care."

"So you did care. About what you read."

"Of course I did. I-I never knew there were people like you. I mean, Max and Isabel okay, but not really."

"Don't put me on a pedestal, Michael," Liz snapped tightly, twisting her entwined fingers. "I'm not a big fan of heights."

"I don't have to," he assured her, shocked that she would think that. But of course, that was what Max had always done to her, and it took a while for the soft spots left by an ex to stop hurting when someone else poked them. He should know. "I don't have to, Liz, you're not perfect and I know that. I just never knew…until then I never knew there were people in the world who cared like you do, God, about _strangers_. People you should have been terrified of, and all you wanted was to help us. And it isn't fair for you to know whatever I've decided to tell you, when I know all kinds of personal crap about you. So. Um. Here." Unsteadily, he handed her his sketchbook.

She set it carefully on the coffee table. "Michael, I don't have to know every single detail of your life all at once. You don't have to rip open all your scars just to prove that you're my friend, or…put us on even footing. Friendship doesn't work like that. All the private stuff…we'll talk about it when we're ready. Like we've been doing. It takes time, and that's the way it should be."

"Liz, it's okay…" he tried to tell her, even though he was terrified to put his soul in her hands like this. This was stupid, it was Liz, she wouldn't judge him or mock him or look at him any differently, but he was terrified at the same time because this was Liz…and what if she did? It had only been a month and she already had enough pieces of his soul to break him with. If he really let her see him, and she cared anyway…she'd become the most important person in his universe. And if she saw him, and she was scared or disgusted…

"Don't be a bonehead." He jerked back to reality wondering if she had read his mind, but instead she was handing him his sketchbook back. "Your hands wouldn't be shaking if it was _okay_. Just because you _can _tell me anything doesn't mean you have to. You're allowed to have privacy, Michael."

"I didn't want you to think…"

"That you don't trust me? That I'm last choice, because Isabel's wrapped up in her marriage, Maria left and Max is off looking for his son?"

"Pretty much, yeah. And…there's a lot of things about me that you don't know."

She snorted. "I know we haven't really been friends long, but we've known each other for a couple of years, now. Just because you reveal a few more secrets, you're not going to stop being Michael. So keep it until you want me to see it. Trust me-I already know who you are."

"You see me," he said softly, realizing what it meant. She'd already said it, but he was too wrapped up in trying to explain why he wasn't scared to realize it. She saw him, Michael. Not the screwup, or the alien general, or Maria's insensitive boyfriend. The artist or the delinquent, even though he was all of those things. She was already looking at the whole picture of him, not just one part. She wouldn't see him any differently no matter what he told her.

Michael handed back her sketchbook. "No, I want you to," he insisted. "Because you're right. You're not gonna look at me different."

Liz smiled, and opened the sketchbook, paging through slowly. One of her favorites was something from probably halfway through junior year, before Alex had died. It showed all of them in a booth at the Crashdown-he'd drawn it from a photo Tess had taken. Michael had turned toward Liz, who had taken a sip of Max's cherry-and-tabasco coke by mistake. He'd patted her on the back when she choked, and still had his arm around her when she'd managed to stop coughing long enough to smile. Kyle was tickling Maria and Max and Isabel were both oblivious to the antennae Alex was creating behind their heads with his index and pinky fingers.

"Michael…feel free to say no, but, can I have this one?"

He looked puzzled. "Don't you already have the photo, Parker?"

"Yeah, I do, but…" She couldn't tell him that she wanted it because it showed him smiling, with his arm around her, and in the drawing, they looked like friends, where in the photo, they both looked kind of strained and uncomfortable. She didn't have any pictures of the two of them hanging out, friends, the way she did with Maria and Alex. "Never mind."

He shook his head. "I will never understand women." He tore the page along the perforated line and handed her the sketch. "Here."

"Aren't you going to sign it?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." He scrabbled through his art kit for a pen and scrawled his name in the bottom right corner.

Liz smiled. "Thank you," she replied as though it was a real gift and not a stupid piece of paper.

That was one of his favorite things about Liz. She appreciated little stuff, like those ugly bunny slippers. Isabel had been his personal shopper for that gift, and she'd advised him to find some Kevlar when Michael had explained who they were for, but Liz loved the stupid things. She'd understood that they weren't just slippers, they were _her_ slippers for _her_ to wear at _his_ apartment. He'd wanted her to feel welcome-without coming right out and saying it and feeling like an idiot-and she already had a key.

She kept looking through his sketchbook while he turned on the hockey game he'd recorded from earlier that night. Liz claimed she hated hockey, but if he put it on while she was in the room, she'd watch out of the corner of her eye. She detested Tod Bertuzzi of the Vancouver Canucks with a firey passion, for no reason that he could see, and sure enough, she growled under her breath when he took the ice, sketchbook forgotten in her lap.

Michael chuckled to himself. It was almost as entertaining to watch her _pretending_ not to watch as it was to watch the game. By the time the game was over, she was curled up next to him, head on his shoulder, resisting falling asleep and failing miserably. "Liz?"

"No," she replied truculently, in a pouty, sleepy-little-girl voice.

"Liz, it's a school night, I've gotta get you home."

"Uh-uh." She yawned and tucked her cold nose against his neck, making him flinch. "Tired." She sighed once and was asleep.

Michael reached for the phone to call the Parkers. "Hey, Jeff, it's Michael."

"Hey, everything okay?"

"Yeah, Liz just fell asleep on my couch when we were watching the hockey game. I don't really trust her on the back of my bike when she's like this-it's not safe. I'll walk her once I manage to wake her up, but we're gonna miss curfew. Thought I'd let you know."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to walk her, Michael. Your shift at Meta-Chem's in what, another hour? You'll be late if you walk her home. I'll pick her up."

Michael breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Mmm." Liz stirred. "Daddy?"

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." Michael chuckled. "You want to talk to him?"

"Yeah," she yawned. He held the phone to her ear. "Daddy?"

"Hey, Lizzie. Enjoy the hockey game?"

"Ha ha."

"I'm gonna come pick you up so Michael's not late for his shift, okay?"

"Okay. There's a couple paper bags on the upstairs counter, can you bring them?"

"Sure, hon. I'll see you in five."

"What's in the bags?" Michael asked as he went into his bedroom to change.

"Cookies," she hollered back. "You're my guinea pig. The round ones with the Red-Hots on top are Scorned Woman Swirl-those are for you. The trees are gingerbread, the Santas are cinnamon spice, and the stars are fizzy chocolate shortbread. It's for the Christmas Nazi's party. I figured I need a few trial runs first."

"I'm not a good test subject for regular food, Liz."

"That's why you're taking them on your shift."

"Monk, Steve and Fly would eat anything that wasn't nailed down. They're not exactly dscriminating."

"I'll take what I can get," she replied airily.

Michael chuckled to himself. She was spoiling him again. He'd never been spoiled, and he was enjoying the hell out of it. It wasn't like when Isabel had tried to mother him when they were kids. It was different, less suffocating. Like a favorite blanket after a long day.

"Hey," Jeff Parker hollered when he came in the door.

"Hey, Daddy." Liz turned from her place on the couch. "Michael's getting ready."

Jeff held up two fistfuls of oversized paper sacks. "A couple?"

"He doesn't eat right at Meta-Chem," Liz replied with a blush. "Doritos and Snapple."

"Okay, so what's in here?"

"Cookies. Pizza-pockets. Apples and grapefruit that I know he's not going to eat, but it's worth a

shot."

Jeff smiled. "You're a good friend, Lizzie."

"So's he."

"I noticed." Jeff sat on the couch. "Lizzie, are you and Michael really just friends?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well…your mother was asking me the other day, what I would think if you and Michael were…I

thought maybe you'd said something to her."

"No, we're just friends. I'm…I'm not in love with Max anymore, but I'm not over him yet, either. I needed someone to talk to, and Michael's been there for me."

"Yeah, I know what that's like. That's how it was for me and your mother."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. She said she told you, about Wendy."

"The girl you were with before Mom?"

"Yeah. I was just starting to…wake up, I guess, after she died, and your Mom had just had her heart broken by some insensitive jerk who didn't deserve her. She was working for your Gramma Claudia then, as a research assistant. None of her friends approved of me, said I was trash. I probably was, but I was crazy about her. I'd never had a friend I could trust like that. She was really good for me. She never pushed, but she thought I was amazing, smart, funny, talented…and I wanted to live up to the person she saw when she looked at me. I got a better job, started taking night courses in business. I asked her to marry me the night I opened the Crashdown. I never thought so, but she said I was good for her too. I'm beginning to understand what she meant."

"What do you mean?"

"Since you started spending time with Michael, you've been closer to me and your mother than you've been in a long time. You've been happier than you've seemed in a long time. You smile more, your grades are better…you're even talking about the future again. I see the same things in Michael. He's great with you, protective, trustworthy…but it isn't just that. He laughs now. He's more responsible, more patient. He's been doing really great at the Crash, he even dealt with the suppliers when I was out sick last week. If he didn't still have school to deal with, I'd ask him to be the manager, and…so what I'm saying is…if something did happen down the road, your mother and I would be really happy for you."

Liz giggled. "Dad, are you trying to set me up with Michael? I'm not really his type."

"What?" he retorted with mock anger. "Brilliant, loving and beautiful isn't his type?"

"No, but…Dad, Michael and I _are_ just friends. But I'm glad you like him. Considering how you felt about Max…it means a lot."

_Yeah,_ Michael added mentally from his room, where he'd heard every word of their conversation through the thin walls. _Means a lot to me too._

oOo

When he arrived at Meta-Chem that night, he knew he had no chance of getting in there and keeping the food to himself. They were watching him on the monitors, after all. Mentally, he thanked Liz for making some of the cookies and half-a-dozen of the pizza pockets with Scorned Woman baked in, so he'd get at least some of it.

"Hey, Mike, whadja bring us?"

"Who said it was for you?" He asked around a mouthful of cookie as he set the bags down on the counter and settled into his chair.

"Come on, you've got cookies in there, man," said Steve. "Don't tell me you're gonna eat em all yourself. That's just mean."

Michael reached into one of the bags and laughed when he pulled out little commentary cards. There were yes/no checkboxes next to 'too sweet,' 'too spicy,' 'not enough icing,' and dozens of other tests, divided by cookie type, with a space for additional comments at the bottom. They all had names on them. Michael passed them out. "We're Liz's guinea pigs tonight. Fill them out or we'll never get cookies again."

"Who's Liz, Mike?"

"A friend."

"A friend who packs lunches for your entire shift?" Fly repeated incredulously. "I think someone's trying to get in your pants."

Michael brushed it off. "She's my ex's best friend, and my best friend's ex."

"That's like a sidestep away from incest, man," Monk observed. "Isn't it kinda weird when you're getting hot and heavy?"

"No, because we don't. Do you want the goddamn cookies or not?"

"Jeez, Mike, what's your problem? This is almost as bad as when you were moping about Maria. It's not like she's still going out with your best friend, or anything."

"Max has been in love with her since he was eight years old," Michael replied through clenched teeth. "Even if I _was_ interested in Liz, which I'm not, I would never do anything about it. It would kill him."

"Yeah, maybe," Monk replied with his mouth full. "But these cookies might be worth it. You decide you don't want her, feel free to hook me up."

"Monk-"

"The man speaks truth," Steve concurred. "If it wasn't for the wife…"

Michael threw a wadded-up paper bag at them. "Shut up and eat. Just don't touch the round ones."

"Why, she make them for you special?" Fly took a big bite of one and gagged. "Holy shit, what's in these?" he rasped.

"Scorned Woman Hot Sauce." Michael nipped the cookie out of Fly's fingers and finished it. "Told you not to touch them."

"The woman even caters to your whacked-out tastebuds. You gotta marry her, man," Monk advised.

"I told you, Liz and I-"

"Yeah, yeah, we heard." Fly waved off his protests. "You got a picture?"

"I dunno. Maybe." Michael opened his wallet and started digging through it. "Yeah, here you go. This is all of us at prom last year. She's the one in the black dress." The picture showed the six of them, the original group-him, Max and Isabel, Maria, Liz and Alex. They were sitting, as they so often did, in a booth at the Crash.

"Hoo! I didn't have a girl-next-door who looked like _that_ in my neighbourhood!"

It was a perfect description of Liz. Girl-next-door meets shy temptress. "Yeah. She was really happy that night."

"What happened?"

"Alex died. Car accident."

"Alex-that's the one with his arm around the one with the chest?"

Michael smirked. Isabel would blast them all if she heard herself described that way. "That's him."

"Looks like a good kid, man," Fly said quietly. "Too bad about what happened."

"Yeah. Thanks." Michael tucked the picture away and dug back into the food, but he didn't taste any of it.

oOo

"Is it just me, or does it feel like everyone's kind of…pushing us together?" Michael asked Liz as they were eating lunch at school on Friday.

She flushed. "You heard my dad."

"Yeah," he admitted. "It's okay, Liz. It was like…so this is how it feels to be Max, y'know? To have adults like you, want you around."

"Dad never liked Max."

"Then he was the only father in Roswell who didn't." Michael shook his head. "And last night, the guys were out for blood. Steve wants to leave his wife and kids and run away with you to a cookie factory." Seeing Liz's expression, he added hastily, "Not really."

"What did you tell them about me?"

"That we were friends. Not that they believed me. I don't think anyone does." He glanced around the courtyard. Even after a month of them hanging out together, they still got weird looks at school.

"I don't think I care." Liz shrugged when she saw the expression on his face. "Why should I? The people whose opinions actually matter to me know the truth. And if Pam Troy thinks that I got in your pants when she couldn't open them with the Jaws of Life, well, good."

"O-kay, not a fan of Pam Troy."

"Really not."

"How bad do you want revenge?"

Liz grinned. "What did you have in mind?"

"Make her throw a jealous fit and then add a little alien intervention when the whole school's watching."

"How do we make her throw a jealous fit?"

"She asked me out again last week. I said I'd think about it."

"You'll think about it," Liz repeated with disbelief.

"I'll think about it and say no. At least it'll keep her from trapping me in the eraser room until after Christmas break. She was always bad, but since Maria left it's been open season."

Liz started giggling. "Is it possible for a guy to be raped?"

"I don't think I wanna find out. So, you gonna save me from her evil clutches?"

"I knew you had an ulterior motive. All right, I won't let her take advantage of you. What are friends for?"

Michael laced his fingers together and pressed them against his forehead, closing his eyes in either prayer or gratitude, she wasn't sure which. "Thank you."

"So what do I have to do?"

"You're not gonna like this part."

"Why not?"

"Pam wants me to meet her in the Eraser Room in 6th period."

"6th period? Michael, that's my US Government midterm, I can't miss that!"

"I know, I know, but they let you go as soon as you're finished the test, right?"

"Yeah."

"And knowing you, that'll be about halfway through class."

"Yeah? So? She'll already be in there."

"I told her 7th. She said she'd be waiting."

"And you and I-" Liz began in tones of dawning realization.

"Are gonna be in there already. Right about the time the hallway is full of people, Pam's going to sneak in, find us, and freak."

"Right in front of everybody." Liz snickered. "I love it. Then what are you going to do to her?"

"I was thinking classic chick fight, which I will manfully break up."

"Oh, like I don't know that's just for your own perverse entertainment."

"Be noble. You are helping a friend in need-your body is merely a vessel."

"You have _got_ to stop hanging out with Kyle."

"Anyway, back to the plan. Seperating you two will give me the opportunity to touch her, for what I hope will be the very last time, and then her clothes will fall off."

"Michael, this is Pam _Troy_," Liz pointed out in a withering tone. "She'll enjoy that."

"Fine, smarty, what did you have in mind?"

"How are you with projectile vomiting?"

oOo

"I feel so ridiculous," Liz whispered, looking around the Eraser Room. Just like the last time she'd checked, there was no one there but her and Michael. "I used to be such a good girl. Now it seems like I spend half my life in the Eraser Room."

"Half your life, huh?" he teased.

"Max and I used to come in here a lot. Mostly just to spy on Topolsky and talk about Czechoslovakian stuff. Not for what you're thinking." When Michael raised his eyebrow, she amended, "Ok, sometimes for what you're thinking."

"Liz Parker hot and heavy in the Eraser Room. When we leave, remind me to look outside and check for airborne farm animals."

"Michael, at this point you are abusing sarcasm," Liz retorted, not at all amused. "I'm not just some perfect doll who only does the right thing. I stole a diamond!"

"What's the wildest thing you ever did that had nothing to do with the alien chaos, Liz?"

"I-" she closed her mouth.

"My point exactly."

"I shoplifted a bottle of nail polish when I was eleven."

Michael turned to look at her. "Did you take it back?" he asked, already knowing her answer.

She hung her head. "Yes."

"Doomed to be a good girl."

"Not after today," she replied with immense satisfaction.

"Five minutes to the bell." Michael looked at his watch. "That's our cue." He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the wifebeater underneath, and motioned to her clothes.

"Take off your sweater."

"I'm not wearing anything under it!"

"You're wearing one of those lacy things. I can see the bottoom of it," he replied diffidently.

"A sheer slip is not clothes, Michael!"

"Are you wearing a bra?"

"Yes."

"Then it's clothes. Two items. Plural. Clothe_sss._"

"You've been attending class. I'm impressed. But I'm still not taking off my sweater." She unbuttoned it to reveal the lace-trimmed nylon slip she was wearing underneath. "That's as good as it gets."

"Deal." He pulled her into his arms.

"How long do we have to stand like this?" Liz asked a minute later. "My calves are cramping."

"That's beause you're trying to be here and across the room at the same time. I'm not going to attack you, Liz. Chill out." He pulled her closer with one hand spanning her waist. The hand slid under her slip, until he was stroking along her spine.

Liz started giggling. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"I almost forgot. The back fetish."

"What are you talking about?"

"Maria's been my best friend since we were in diapers. We talk about everything, in really excruciating detail. Most guys are into boobs or legs. Maria always talked about how you used to drool when she wore a halter because you could see her bare back." She giggled some more. "Is that an alien thing?"

He groaned in dismay. "What else did she tell you."

"She said you used to draw her when she was sleeping."

"How did she know?"

"She wasn't really sleeping, Michael. I wonder if I should tell Pam Troy that all she needs to get you is a halter top."

"Pam Troy couldn't get me with the Special Unit."

His hand stroked harder, pressing her closer to him. Liz bit back a moan. She _loved_ having her back rubbed. She baby-stepped closer so he could reach and her arms slid up without permission from the rest of her, circling his shoulders. Her nails dug into the back of his neck when his palm settled against the perfect spot.

He hissed. "Liz-"

Liz opened her eyes, about to say, 'I'm sorry' when she saw the expression in his. He'd liked it. Feeling something pressing against her, she added, _Too much._

A smirk quirked his lips and he rubbed with his palm again, making her moan. Her eyes clouded, and she didn't even hear the door open as Michael started kissing the side of her neck.

"What the hell is this?" Pam Troy hollered loud enough to wake the dead. It was certainly loud enough for Max, passing by the door to the Eraser Room at that exact moment, to hear, and look in, and see. And to know.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing save one spoiled Jack Russell terrier and a ridiculous amount of shoes.

Author's Notes: I am aware that some of the scenes to follow are completely and utterly unrealistic. I just don't care. They were fun to write.

oOo

"How dare you touch him, you goody-two-shoes little bitch!" Pam shrieked, slapping Liz across the face. Pam was moving in for the killer rake of the manicured nails when Michael separated them. "Michael, how could you even go near her?"

"Pam, I never said I'd go out with you. It's none of your business."

"It's my business," Max replied in a dangerously even tone. "I'd really like to know what you were doing in the Eraser Room with Liz!"

"Probably the same thing you were doing at the prom with Tess!" Michael shot back. He'd been holding Liz, kissing Liz, and now Pam and Max had jerked him back to reality, where this was all just an elaborate ploy, and he wanted them both dead. Maybe if he could have just touched her long enough, she would have forgotten she was too good for him.

"Michael?" Pam whimpered, a horrible expression on her face. Then she threw up. All over Max.

Their audience applauded.

Liz and Michael got detention. Pam got suspended. Max got to go home and change, and they all got a thorough talking-to on appropriate behavior in a public building, a perfect cap to the hellish last week before Christmas break.

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Uh-huh. Sure. What color is the sky where you live? Don't bother with a lawsuit unless you have a particular fondness for Jack Russell/Chihuahua puppies. I mean, they're cute and all, but I doubt the sale would cover the legal fees.

A/N: That's right, my baby just whelped two boys and two girls, white with black ears and saddles. And we thought she was just getting fat! Sneaky thing.

After detention, Michael dropped Liz off and went to his apartment to wait for Max. He sat on the couch, watching the door. "Hello, Maxwell," he said when it opened.

"You were expecting me?" His lips twisted bitterly. "Where's Liz? In the bedroom?"

"She's having dinner with her parents. Max, it was just a joke. Pam's been…well, if I was a chick they'd call it sexual harassment. It's annoying, not to mention embarassing as hell. Liz was helping me get rid of her. That's all. We never even kissed."

Max sank slowly onto the couch. "The whole way here, I was praying it was something like that. I can't lose her, Michael."

"Max, haven't you been paying attention? You already did. Ever since Tess, it hasn't been the same. _You had a kid with someone else._ That 'someone else' killed her best friend. Do you really think she's ever going to forgive that? Or forget that?"

He was silent for a moment. "No," he finally admitted in a barely audible voice. "But Michael, I have to try. I love her. I don't know how things got so messed up."

"Do what you gotta do, Maxwell," Michael said, not meaning it, and knowing privately that he had a thousand selfish motives for talking Max out of Liz, most of them to do with the feel of her skin under his hands.

"Has she talked to you about this?"

"We're friends. We talk."

That made him smile. "Since when do you talk to anybody about anything?"

"Since Liz. She doesn't pry, she just…lets me talk until I'm done."

"Yeah, I remember that. I used to feel like I could talk to her about anything. And then, when Tess got pregnant, and we thought that we…were going to leave, she was the one person I really wanted to talk to about it. We'd barely spoken in months. Isn't that crazy?"

"Yeah, Max," Michael replied flatly. "It's crazy. And cruel."

"You don't approve, do you? You don't want me to be with her."

"I'm her friend. I want her to be happy. I don't see that happening with you."

"Michael-"

"You two are like Murphy's Law to the _n_th degree. If it can go wrong it will. And it does. The whole star-crossed-lovers thing is cute for a while, but when Fate keeps smacking you in the face, it's trying to tell you something. Maybe you should listen. Before you hurt her even more than you already have."

"Michael-"

"What."

"I can't."

"Yeah, you _can_, Maxwell. You just don't want to."

"Well, anyway, this isn't what I came here to talk about. I found a lead." He saw Michael's disbelieving expression but pressed on. "There's a ship, in Texas. I need you to come with me."

"Max…what makes this any different than Arizona? Or California. Or Utah. Or New York. How long are you going to keep looking for something that just isn't here?"

"Michael, this is my son!"

"How the hell do you know she's even pregnant?" Michael demanded. "How do you know it's not just one more mindwarp? For Christ's sake, Maxwell, she killed Alex right under our noses! She's capable of anything!"

"I-" Max shut his mouth when he realized he couldn't deny any of that. "You're right. I don't know that Tess really was pregnant. But I can't do nothing. Because what if she was? God, what kind of a mother would she be? I can't even take the _chance_ that I might abandon my son to a life like that."

_Goddamn genetics._ His role in the group was etched into his makeup, and Michael knew he would be going with Max whether he wanted to or not, thanks to that niggling little annoyance in the back of his head that he called a conscience for lack of a better word, though it had no sense of right or wrong-its only concern was ensuring the safety of the royal four. Free will was granted to every man ever born. Too bad for him he'd been hatched. "When do we leave?"

"Tonight."

Michael rubbed his face tiredly. "Max, Isabel's Christmas party is in four days. You promised her that this wasn't going to be like last year. I don't know about you, but I'm not interested in facing the wrath of the Third Reich."

"Michael, this is important. My son-"

"Is not the only family you have," Michael snapped. "Isabel and your parents deserve some consideration too. We'll leave late Wednesday night. After the holidays, and under the radar."

"Michael-"

"Max, please don't say anything that's going to make me want to hit you. In fact, please don't say anything at all. I'll see you at Isabel's."

oOo

Michael hated shopping. Really, really hated it. But after his impassioned speech on the joys of Christmas, he knew he couldn't show up at Isabel's party empty-handed.

He had a few projects he'd been working on that could be loosely considered Christmas presents. One was a swirling, star-studded abstract of the rock formation that housed the Granolith, surrounded by an immense night sky. But instead of painting Earth's sky, he'd chosen what he could remember of Antar's constellations, and included the triplet moons. He'd felt almost compelled to paint the damn thing, and he didn't like it, but he knew Max would. Another was a frozen moment of Isabel's wedding, a private smile exchanged between Jesse and Isabel. He'd been planning on saving it for their anniversary, but that was months away, and Christmas had snuck up on him. For the Parkers, a humour painting he'd been working on of the Crashdown, showing aliens, antennae and all, eating at the outdoor tables, spaceships parked at the curb, with Liz in her little uniform serving a Sigourney Weaver Special. It wasn't finished, but if he worked hard, it would be.

Liz, the Valentis and the Evans' were more difficult. The Evans' because he didn't know them well, and Kyle and Jim because they weren't really into art. Liz because he wanted her present to be personal, and at the same time he knew it shouldn't be.

For the Evans' he settled on recreating a moment he still remembered from when they were kids. It was summer, they'd spent the day outside, and Max and Isabel had fallen asleep in the grass. He'd seen Phillip and Diane standing with their arms around each other, looking down at their children. Kodak moment. The way the Evans family had splintered lately, he thought they'd enjoy it. He just hoped it didn't make them cry.

For the Valentis, he didn't know what he would paint until he was painting it, like his hand had a mind of its own. It was the crash site at Pohlman Ranch, just as Hal had described it months ago. Army vehicles, scattered parts, scorching desert. He thought it was strangely appropriate-the crash had shaped the lives of the Valenti men for three generations.

Liz was infinitely harder. Any painting he did of her, or for her, would bare his soul. He didn't want her to open that in front of everybody. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know at all.

When his eyes fell on the piece of the ship that Hal had given him, he had an idea. He sneaked outside and stole a couple of charcoal briquettes off of his neighbour's patio. Tess had told him that they could compress carbon into diamonds, as a way to make the money to live in Earth society, but it was risky, someone with no visible means of support turning up with a fistful of diamonds. This wouldn't be a fistful-just one.

He shaped the shard into a rope of almost liquid metal, then set the diamond in the same material. It was pear-shaped, about the size of a dime. Normally he would have thought a diamond would be too cold for Liz, but this one glimmered with rainbows even in the shadows, as though his powers had done something that neither heat and pressure and time in the earth's core, nor scientists in a cutting-edge lab, could do.

It wasn't a gift for a friend. He knew that. But as he bought a little velvet drawstring bag on his way to Isabel's, he decided he didn't care.

oOo

Isabel and Jesse's apartment was in full Christmas-Nazi dress Tuesday night, themed and perfected to within an inch of its' life, except for a single stocking on the mantel of Jesse's, that looked like it had been made by a child's hands and well-worn since then. Michael smirked. Isabel really did love the guy.

He brought the paintings in, wrapped in brown paper, and tucked them in the corner, half-hidden behind the tree. The diamond necklace was in his pocket. He was the second-last to arrive; they were still waiting for Max. Liz's Guerin-tested, Guerin-approved cookies were laid out prettily on Isabel's coffee table, and Isabel was even munching on a Scorned-Woman Swirl. He could smell Jeff Parker's Mexican Cheesecake, a dessert he only made on holidays, and only for family. Diane Evans was setting some sort of dippy thing on the table. There appeared to be a lot of dips-even the Valentis, both scary in the kitchen, had brought a veggie platter that Michael recognized as coming from the grocery store deli.

He followed Isabel into the kitchen. "Is, why didn't you tell me-"

"Michael, thank God. What took you so long?" She guestured to her kitchen, taken over with a 'simple and easy' turkey shish kebab recipie out of _Martha Stewart Living._ "Do something, make it better, please, I can't ask Mom. It'll just be one more reason I got married too young."

Michael smiled. "Next time, ask me to bring something, Is." He kissed her cheek. "Go mingle with your guests. Tell them everything's fine."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Isabel had done most of the prep work, so it only took him a couple of minutes to get them marinated and on the grill. He made sure that no one clueless was looking and cleaned the kitchen with a wave of his hand, then stepped back out. "It looks fantastic, Is," he said. "I can't wait to try it."

"Honey, are you sure you don't need any more help?" Diane asked.

"No, I've got it all covered," Isabel replied tightly.

"Then I guess we're just waiting for Max." Diane's smile was falsely bright. "He is still coming, isn't he? Nothing came up?"

"He's really looking forward to it," Michael lied. "I'm sure he'll be here any minute." All the while thinking, _King or no king, if he doesn't show I'll light him up like a Christmas tree._

After a few moments of tense silence Max opened the door, loaded down with Christmas presents. "A little help, here," he suggested as he staggered in.

Jesse jumped up to help him while everyone started talking at once, in a cheery buzz of sheer relief. Michael glanced at the mountain of presents-guilt gifts, he was sure, since Max had been planning to miss out on Isabel's first married-woman dinner party, on Christmas Day, no less. Speaking of…Michael gave Isabel a subtle nod, and she stood, wearing her good-hostess face. "I think everything's ready. Michael, will you help me serve?"

Playing his part, Michael drawled, "Aw, come on, I don't get enough of this at work?"

"Michael-"

"Yeah, yeah, coming." Michael followed her into the kitchen, then laid everything out on triangular white platters and drizzled them with the sauce he'd whipped up. Before she could pick one up, he halted her and handed her an envelope. "I got you and Jesse something, too, but this is just for you."

She opened it, pulling out a brightly-coloured coupon. "Cooking lessons?" she read, in a voice that didn't know whether to be grateful or insulted. She scanned it again. _Elegant Cooking Made Easy_, _A 15-lesson course_. She was working her way toward pissed when the words at the bottom caught her eye. _One-on-one with Chef Guerin, to be redeemed at the convenience of his sister._ "Oh, Michael…"

"Merry Christmas, Isabel," he murmured, a little embarassed. "You're gonna surprise everybody."

"I guess so." She chuckled, then gave him a fierce hug. "Thanks."

"Sure. Let's get this out there, okay?" He lifted a plate of kebabs and stepped out into the living room, finding room on the coffee table. "So what does everyone want first? Presents or food?"

"Food," Jesse decreed, looking at the kebabs. "Honey, this looks great."

"Mmm, thanks." Isabel couldn't stop grinning long enough to kiss him properly. "Dish up, everyone."

"This is wonderful, Isabel," Diane Evans declared. "What's in the sauce?"

"Sorry, Mom, my little secret."

Isabel winked at Michael, and Liz caught it. She raised one eyebrow at Michael and they shared a conspiratorial grin. When she started to snicker, Michael threatened her with a Scorned Woman Swirl. "Keep it up, Parker," he suggested devilishly.

"And what?" she inquired, pretending innocence.

"And…and you'll be sorry." He smiled sheepishly, unable to come up with a good threat.

Liz watched her father brush cookie crumbs off of his sweater. "Dad, I can't believe you still have that ugly thing."

"Lizzie-"

"I was what, twelve when I made that?" She indicated the lopsided santa face. "It's hideous. You must have really loved me to ever wear it out in public."

"Still do, honey." He grinned at her. "Wait until Michael hears what you made him for Christmas."

"Oh, God, no." Michael couldn't keep the dismay off his face.

"Michael!" Isabel reprimanded him.

"It's okay, Isabel," Liz replied easily, not insulted. "I've gotten better since then. Besides, have you not seen Michael's wardrobe?"

"True," she conceeded.

"Hey!" Michael protested. "A little help here!"

Kyle grinned and shook his head. "Sorry, man. All I have to do is think of sophomore year and I can't defend you."

"All right, enough Michael-bashing," Nancy decreed. "It's Christmas. We can pick on him tomorrow."

"Actually…" Max paused when Michael gave him a warning look, then mouthed, _Tomorrow night_. "I think we have to wait until after New Year's. Isn't that what you used to tell us, Mom? We had to be good for the whole year if we wanted Santa to bring us anything."

"Some loyalty," Michael muttered, pretending insult. "I'm keeping all your presents."

"You'd better not, little brother," Isabel replied. "Zap!"

"I'll zap you back," he retorted easily.

"And pick on a pregnant woman? I think not." Isabel smiled tremulously at the complete silence her words created. "Somebody better congratulate me. I'm fragile right now."

"Isabel…" Diane began softly, dismay in her tone.

"Oh, Isabel, that's great!" Liz jumped in, leaping up to give her a hug. "I can't believe it! You're going to be a great mom-you'll have the best-dressed kid in Roswell!"

"Thanks!" They rocked back and forth until Isabel managed to swallow her tears. "Thanks, Liz," she whispered.

Liz turned and shot Michael and Max warning looks. They each stood, hugging Isabel and murmuring 'Congratulations,' leaving anything else for later.

Kyle offered, "I'll teach the little guy all about balance in the universe."

"Not if I can help it," Isabel retorted, managing to giggle.

Jim came forward to give her a hug. "If there's anything you need."

"Thanks."

After a glance at the Evans', still composing themselves, Jeff and Nancy stood, hugging her in turn. "I got horrible cravings with Liz," Nancy confessed. "Anything you want, on or off the menu, on the house."

"Even my cheesecake," Jeff offered with a grin.

The Evans' were struggling, it was clear. Finally, not wanting a return of the rift that had just been mended, Diane hugged her daughter. "I'm happy you're happy, Isabel." It was ambiguous, but it wasn't outright disappointment and rejection. Isabel took what she could get. "Thanks, Mom."

Isabel turned to her father. "Hey, Grampa," she tried to tease.

He laughed hoarsely. "Give me…give me a couple of months to get used to that."

"Okay." Isabel hid her disappointment, and her fear that he didn't have that long.

He hugged her. "I love you, honey. Nothing will ever change that."

"I know," Isabel lied.

"Okay, presents," Michael decreed. "I think Jesse already got his."

"You have no idea," Jesse replied with a grin. "I can't wait to tell my Mom."

"Who wants to go first?"

"Oh, I will." Liz got up and started handing out brightly coloured shiny bags topped with artfully scrunched tissue paper. "Isabel." Isabel opened it to reveal a beautiful off-the-shoulder velvet-yarn sweater. Jesse's present was a scarf in deep forest green. A sweater for Phillip Evans in a traditional maroon and for Diane, a crocheted slouchy purse of tight-weave floss in coppery gold that Isabel made envious noises over.

She gave Max a hat, gloves, a scarf and socks. "If you're crazy enough to go camping in the middle of winter, you might as well be warm," she suggested.

A cardigan for her mother and a replacement christmas sweater for her dad-this one an alien wearing a santa hat with a spaceship being pulled by reindeer in the background. Traditional cable-knit sweaters for the Valentis-soft faun for Kyle and cream for Jim. By contrast, Michael's present was beautiful in its' simplicity, black and lightweight with no adornment. "Is that cashmere?" Isabel gasped.

"Shh!" Liz admonished. "Tell him that and he'll never wear it."

"I'll wear it," Michael bargained, "If you promise to wear mine."

"Liz, I think he got you something sparkly," Diane Evans teased.

"Knowing Michael, he got her a car bumper," Isabel retorted cryptically.

"Fine, just for that, I'm going next." Michael reached for the brown-paper packages. "Here, Parkers first." They tore off the paper and immediately started laughing, exactly the reaction that Michael had been going for. Finally they turned it so the others could see it. Isabel and Max both stilled, then relaxed when the rest of the group began to chuckle. "What's it called?" Nancy asked.

" 'The Crash,' " Michael replied, the nickname that all the high-school kids had for the local diner. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? This is going up on the wall, right next to a big 'Not For Sale' sign. I think I'm gonna need it." Jeff clapped him on the back. "Thanks, Michael."

"Okay, us next," Isabel broke in greedily. "Which one is for us?"

"Is! I already-"

"But you said I get another one too," she wheedled adorably.

"Okay, okay." He handed over another package. "Enjoy."

Isabel opened it and immediately burst into tears. "Hormones," Jesse translated with an easy grin. "She loves it. Thanks, Michael."

"Oh, how beautiful," Diane murmured when she saw. "Michael? What's it called?"

"Vows." Uncomfortable, since Isabel was still weeping softly, he turned to the Evans. "And this one is for you." To his very great relief, they didn't cry when they opened it. "It's called 'Picnic,' " he added before anyone could ask.

"Michael, when…"

"It was a long time ago. I still remember because…you really seemed like a family, the kind of happy families you see on tv, but I'd never seen that in real life before."

"It's wonderful." Diane Evans took his hands in hers. "It's wonderful. Thank you," she said fiercely, then pulled him into a hug. "It means so much…to remember."

"Kyle, Jim…" Michael suddenly wasn't sure that his present would be welcome. The memories it would bring up would be powerful, and maybe not the sort of thing they'd like to see day after day. "What the hell." He handed it over.

They opened it slowly, and when Jim looked up, his eyes were suspiciously shiny, and Michael knew he'd noticed his father painted into the sun-blurred crowd of police and military personnel. "What's it called?"

" 'The Crash,' " Michael answered softly.

"Thanks, son."

"You're welcome."

"Dad?"

"We'll talk about it later, Kyle," he suggested.

"I don't think Liz can wear that, Michael." Isabel was back to her old fiesty self, and deliberately breaking the tension. She indicated the last painting.

"That's for Max," Michael replied, handing it over.

Max opened it slowly. "Michael…"

"It's called, 'The Way Home.' " Michael ignored the sharp look that Isabel was giving him.

"Thank you," he replied softly, running his fingers over the three moons of reddish stone, one broken and two whole, all large and unfamiliar.

Michael turned to Liz. "Liz-"

She was studying the painting he'd given her parents. "It's great, Michael. Thank you."

Michael smiled. Vintage Liz. She was disappointed, but she didn't want to make him feel bad. He watched a smile trace her face and knew, too, that she genuinely liked the painting.

"Don't be hogging their gift, Parker." Michael handed over the velvet bag. "You've got your own."

"Michael…?" Liz looked up at him curiously, then loosened the drawstring and shook the necklace out into her palm. Her fingers shook as she touched the chain. "Is this…?"

He nodded softly, knowing what she was asking. "Yeah."

"Real? I sure hope not!" Isabel looked at it. "It's bigger than my engagement ring! Michael-"

"Isabel, you're going to wear out my name. I want Liz to have it. Cope."

"It's beautiful," Liz said softly, then slid the chain around her neck. The metal merged with no break, the diamond just below the hollow of her throat.

"Oh, my." Nancy reached out to touch the diamond. "I think you're right, Di," she said with the ease of women whose kids had dated. "This is very sparkly."

"Oh, goodness." Diane sank down next to Liz to better examine it. "Michael, what a wonderful gift."

Liz tried to smile. But Michael was completely stunned to watch it break apart, before she fled out Isabel's kitchen door in tears.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Oh, how I _wish_ they were mine.

A/N: I hated _Samuel Rising._ They'd already done one over-the-top sappy Christmas episode in S2, but they did it surprisingly well, and they should have left it at that. So I have completely tossed cannon at this point. If you don't like it…well, actually, anyone who wouldn't like it stopped reading after the first chapter, wasted their time sending an e-mail full of bad grammar, vague put-downs and dubious critical technique, and was subsequently mocked via the Muse's subtle and cutting wit (_The reason the plot didn't make sense to you is because you're a moron. I'm surprised you can manage to use a computer. Or read something that doesn't include pictures of a big red dog._) I let her have the flamers; she enjoys exercising her cruel streak, and I have discovered that a polite response thanking them for taking the time to read and review my work, and asking if they, in turn, have posted anywhere so that I can return the favor, only invites comments like 'you're story is still dumb, im not reeding it, u r a stuck-up bitch.' Apparently my knee-jerk Canadian _live and let live, everyone is entitled to their opinion, kindness is a mark of respect we all deserve_ mentality is wasted on some people. That's okay-I'd rather have intelligent readers anyway. (Oops. I think I got a little snark on the screen.) And anyone who read this huge unrelated tangent/rant of an Author's Note _first_ without skipping to the story below totally deserves chocolate. So, back on topic, you probably _will_ like it. Thank you. Enjoy.

Chapter Four

Michael followed her out, but cautiously, wondering if he should have brought reinforcements. He watched her cry for an eternity or two, the sound like a knife in his gut. When she seemed to be winding down, he sank down next to her, crouching at the edge of the back patio. "What did I do?" he asked tiredly.

Liz managed to giggle through her tears. "Nothing. This is just me being a girl," she explained. "I think Maria traumatized you."

He sighed. "Not like I didn't do a number on her, but no more tangents, Parker. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I'd have to be an idiot to believe that one."

Michael braced himself for a swat of annoyance, two years of conditioning having sunk deeper than bone. But instead, Liz shifted so she was sitting cross-legged and rested her head companionably on his shoulder. "Yup," she agreed.

"So, you gonna talk to me or what?"

"Or what," she decided.

"Liz…"

"You don't want to hear it, Michael. You'll think it's stupid. Trust me, okay?"

"I would never think that anything that made you this upset was stupid."

"Oh, it was just…a lot of things. Isabel, and at first I was upset that you didn't paint me anything, but this is the piece of the ship that Hal gave you, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. And you knew all of that, didn't you? What I was upset about, and why."

"Yeah," he admitted. He'd seen her worry for Is, her disappointment, her wonder at realizing just how special his 'sparkly' gift was. He just hadn't counted on his intuition making her cry. Maria had usually been on his case for being completely _in _sensitive.

"I was just looking at Max…and I realized he never knew me that well. He never bothered to look. Even back when things were good…God, I can hardly remember it now…even then he didn't know me like you do. If he did, he'd know how much he hurt me…why I can't be with him anymore. God, if he'd ever known me like you do, he wouldn't have done it in the first place! He'd never have believed I slept with Kyle." She looked up at him, brown eyes serious and dark. "You didn't. You never believed me and you thought I was stupid or crazy or both for lying about it."

He didn't reply. She didn't seem to need it. "Realizing that someone you've always thought was the love of your life, and the most important person in it, really isn't, and never was…that's worth a few tears, I think."

"So you were crying because Max is oblivious and emotionally retarded?" Michael summed up.

"At least when it comes to me." Liz shivered and snuggled closer when Michael draped an arm around her. "It was all so intense and romantic, Romeo-and-Juliet. But when I actually thought about it for a minute-we did nothing but misunderstand and hurt each other. We didn't even really have anything in common."

Michael snorted. "And we do?" he retorted, forgetting for a moment that they were discussing couples and not friendship.

"We like Chinese food and pool and salt and pepper on strawberry ice cream," she countered, listing off a few of their similarities. "We hate Hugh Grant movies. We'd rather be too hot than too cold. We secretly love MASH reruns and old Warner Bros comic books. We think raw tomatoes taste like snot."

Michael let out a snort of laughter at her last comment. "But that's all just stupid little surface stuff."

"It's not stupid. Most of what I know about Max has to do with Antar. The rest I learned through flashes. I don't even know what his favorite colour is."

"You don't?" he repeated, surprised. "I thought you guys…talked. Maria was always saying-"

Liz shook her head. "We didn't talk about light stuff. Not like I do with you. It was all destiny and conspiracy and…I just got so tired of it, Michael. Being sucked into the alien abyss. You have a life outside all that. It's helping me remember that I used to have one too. I used to want other things for myself besides Max Evans. I had my _own _ dreams."

"Don't you? Anymore?"

"I do," she aknowledged with a tilt of her head. "I just think they've changed while I wasn't paying attention."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know."

"I will." She smiled.

""Max and I are leaving on Monday. We're going to Texas. There's a ship."

"There's always a ship."

"Seems like it. Anyway, Meta-Chem's having a Christmas party thing for the employees tomorrow night. Thought maybe you'd like to go."

"Sure…we don't usually do anything on Boxing Day anyway."

"There's that Parker enthusiasm," he drawled.

"No, it's just…it doesn't really seem like your kind of thing. We don't have to go."

"Nah, it's okay. The guys want to meet you, and there's a scientist from Boston on staff just for a couple of months, Dr…uh…Patrick?"

"Petrick," Liz corrected automatically, then gasped. "Sofia Petrick is going to be there?"

"Older lady, red hair, pretty hot in a Mrs. Robinson kind of way?" Michael offered.

"Michael!" Liz admonished, then nodded. "Yes, that's her. She's a really amazing boichemist, Michael. She completely revolutionized the way we look at hormones and pheromones and their effect on mood-"

"Okay, Little Miss Scientist. Easy. You have to promise not to pass out if I introduce you. Got a rep to keep up."

"Oh. Right." Liz flushed. "It sounds like fun, Michael. Thank you for thinking of me." She kissed his cheek, the same as she would if he was her dad, or Alex, and went back inside.

Michael sat there with one finger brushing the spot where he could feel the slight stickiness of her lipstick, whether to wipe it away or keep it there forever like a brand, he wasn't sure. "I always think of you, Liz," he said softly, wondering when it had become true.

oOo

Liz smiled faintly when Isabel met her at the door. "I'm okay," she said, before the girl could ask. They'd never be best friends, but they'd gotten closer since Maria left for New York. Neither of them really had anyone else.

"I'm the one who's pregnant," Isabel teased. "Why are you crying?"

"Oh, I-"

Michael came in behind her, and Isabel's smile fell flat. "Forget I asked."

Michael sneered, still reeling from his conversation with Liz. "Because the way you sprung the whole pregnancy thing on us was very tasteful."

"You're one to talk! Like you never-"

"Okay, you two, time out before you sprout antennae or something." Liz stepped between them, always the peacemaker, hands held out. "Michael, just because you made me cry by being too nice is no reason to be mean to Isabel. And Is, did it ever occur to you that your opinion of Michael might be slightly biased? Maria complained all the time and Michael just never said anything. We only assumed that was because she was right."

"So why didn't you say anything?" Isabel demanded after a nonplussed moment.

Michael scratched at his eyebrow. "Because I didn't want to embarrass her," he said at last. "Or fight with her or…whatever. It didn't seem like a conversation we should be having in front of other people. Or at all."

"So you just, what, let her yell at you and never said anything?" Isabel appeared to be thinking. "I remember her yelling and crying, and you refusing to give in, or making one of your patented smart remarks, but you never yelled back, Michael."

He shrugged. "Didn't seem worth the effort. Besides, most of the time she was right. I loved her, but we really seemed to bring out the worst in each other. A lot."

"Oil and water," Liz said softly.

"More like nitroglycerin and battery acid," Isabel replied, laughing softly. "I swear, some days I thought you were going to _kill _each other…" Isabel glanced at Liz and saw her solemn expression. _Oh. _"Liz, you have some kind of mascara…thing. You know where the bathroom is, right?" She retreated, tactfully, back to the living room.

"You know, you can argue with people sometimes, Michael," Liz said as she fussed in the immaculate kitchen. "You won't hurt them, just because you're mad. You're not like Nacedo…or Hank."

He barked a short laugh. "I tried to keep my cool, but Maria left because she was afraid of me. She made Billy leave for the same reason."

Liz shook her head. "Maybe that's part of it, but it's not the only reason. The whole alien chaos thing…it kind of freaks her out, you know? The way she grew up was so far from normal, that that's what she wants, or her version of it, I guess. We've talked about this," she added when Michael glanced at her curiously. "She's scared of being different…of being like her mom. And you're so different, Michael."

"And you're not scared? Of being different, I mean," he hastened to add, though his eyes were watchful.

"Nope," she replied easily. "For so long, I wanted to be anything but normal. I got my wish. It had a price that never occurred to me, but everything we want does. And there have been good things, too."

"Like?"

"Christmas Nazi. Ava. Las Vegas and the UFO Convention and lanewalking and pizza with jellybeans and a million things I never would have done and seen and felt without you."

_She means the three of you_, Michael's inner voice warned. _Don't be an idiot._ "Liz, I-"

"Liz, Michael, we still have presents to open," Jeff Parker called from the living room.

"Oh. We'll, uh, be right there!" Liz put two hands to her face, smearing the mascara worse.

"Here." Michael brushed his hand over her face, milimeters from touching. "Like it never happened."

"I wouldn't want that." Liz smiled at him and went back into the living room.

oOo

The next evening, Michael went to the Crashdown to pick Liz up, praying she wasn't wearing red. _Anything but red. A little black dress…something in green, green is Christmassy…or white, white would even be okay._ White showed off her tan and the darkness of her hair and the bright sparkle of her eyes, but it was…virginal. Pure. Liz in red was pure temptation.

She came down the stairs…in an at-the-knee dress the colour of good red wine. Michael closed his eyes briefly. _The fates hate me._ He'd started having all these really weird thoughts about Liz, and her coming downstairs in gathered filmy fabric over satin, all tied at her shoulders with ribbons-ribbons, for God's sake, in big undoable bows!-was not helping. And her hair was up in little curls baring her elegant neck and the curve of her back and he was so totally going to hell just for having the thoughts he was having. She was wearing sexy little sandals in dark red velvet and her legs were bare and…and his fingers were trembling. He hadn't even had this reaction to Maria when they first made love. Liz was walking down the stairs toward him with a smile on her beautiful face because he was wearing the sweater she made him, she had holly in her hair and his necklace around her throat, and his fingers were trembling.

"You look…" _Beautiful. Amazing. Edible._ "…nice," he managed.

"You too." She smiled at him again. Michael waited for her to start in on his Docs, or his hair, or the fact that he wasn't wearing a suit. She didn't, only touched the fabric of the sweater lightly. "It looks really good on you, Michael."

"Is that complimenting me, or complimenting you?"

"Both, I guess," she admitted, laughing. "But it does."

"Thanks. Are you ready to go?"

Liz made a face. "My parents want pictures."

"Of us? Why?"

"It's my mom." Liz shrugged. "She never got hours of prom pictures, now she's taking the opportunity to…inflict torture. It's traditional. Her parents embarrassed her, she embarrasses us, and someday we'll embarrass our kids. Mom wants us out front, you know those little trees with all the lights?"

Michael winced. "Why didn't she get pictures of you and Max for prom?" Liz wouldn't look at him. "Liz?"

""My parents don't like Max. Didn't, even before the whole convenience store thing. Me going to prom with him wasn't something they wanted to remember."

"And this is?"

Liz grinned. "Guess so."

Nancy captured just the look she wanted for the pictures. In all of them, Liz was glowing and happy, and Michael was looking at her as if someone had just handed him the world.

oOo

The staff party was being held at the lobby of the Springfield Hotel, while Meta-Chem was being staffed by the four antisocial members of the security team who preferred overtime to free booze. Michael had, in fact, planned on working too, but if their little trip to Texas went sideways, well…he would rather have spent the last night of his life with Liz than checking to make sure doors were secured.

When Liz walked in, eyes wide and searching for the infamous Dr. Sofia Petrick, Michael put one hand at her back and whispered, "She's not here yet."

Liz flushed. "Was I that obvious?"

"Yeah," he replied, smirking at her.

"You're such a pain," she replied lightly, toying with her necklace. "So where are your guys?"

"That's Steve, Cheryl and Marcus over there," Michael replied with a nod toward the buffet. "Let's go say hi."

"Hey, man," Michael said when he stepped up to Steve.

"Hey, Mike. And you must be Liz."

"It's nice to meet you," Liz replied, a little shyly. She hadn't thought Michael would talk about her to 'work friends'-he was such a private person-but Steve was smiling and motioning his wife over. "This is Cheryl, and Marcus, who is getting too heavy for Mom to carry," he added, easily lifting his son out of his wife's arms. "We couldn't get a sitter."

Liz glanced around the room again, seeing it in a new light. There were families here, many with young kids. Michael was probably the youngest Meta-Chem employee in the room. No wonder he hadn't wanted to go alone.

Marcus started to fuss, reaching out for his mother. "Nuh-uh, little man, Mommy needs a break," Steve crooned, but Marcus' face screwed up and he let out an ear-splitting wail.

"Good to know his lungs are working," Liz commented with a gentle smile, seeing that both Cheryl and Steve were embarassed. "Can I…?"

"Sure." Steve held Marcus out slightly and Liz settled him against her shoulder, rubbing his back in gentle circles.

"He likes to be held facing forwa-" Steve began, but Marcus had already settled to gentle huffy sighs. Michael watched, unnerved, as Liz smoothed her cheek against soft baby skin and began shifting from one foot to the other. Marcus was yawning and making sleepy noises. "Wow. Guess he likes you," Steve observed.

"It's mutual." Liz kissed the top of his head and turned toward Michael, unconsciously swaying her back so that the baby lay cuddled against her chest. "What is it?"

Michael cursed mentally. She knew him far too well, and this wasn't something he wanted to talk about. "Nothing. I just didn't know you were so good with kids."

"Remember when I went to Florida, summer before last?"

"Yeah."

"Part of the reason-aside from needing to get away from Roswell-was that my cousin Shannah had just had her third baby. A newborn with colic and two-year-old twins is hard for two parents to handle alone."

"Huh."

"Guess all the mommy practice paid off." Liz turned to Steve. "Do you want me to put him down somewhere?"

"Sure. Here, I'll take-" As Steve started to scoop him up, Marcus let out another air-raid-siren yell. "Or not," Steve added quietly. As soon as he let go of his son the kid was fast asleep again. "I don't know whether to be grateful or insulted."

"I don't mind holding him for a while. He's a sweetie."

"Are you sure?" Cheryl asked.

"I'm fine. It just gives me an excuse to have Michael wait on me hand and foot."

"Yeah, you guys have fun. Have a night off. It's Christmas," Michael added easily.

"Yeah?" Steve shared a broad grin with his wife when Liz nodded. "Thanks, Liz. Mike, she's a keeper," Steve added, clapping him on the back.

Michael glanced at Liz out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, thanks, man," he muttered, deciding anything else would be horribly rude. "Hey, Parker, your idol's here."

Liz turned as quickly as she could with a baby in her arms. "Dr. Petrick? Oh, Michael-"

"Keep your pants on, I'll introduce you. Come on."

"Hey, Sofia," Michael said easily when they approached the eminent scientist.

"Hello, Michael," she replied with a smile.

"This is Liz. She's been dying to meet you."

"Ah, so there is a Mrs. Guerin?"

Liz turned bright red. "Oh, ah, no," she managed. "We're…this is…"

"Steve and Cheryl's son," Michael finished easily. "They're out on the dance floor, and I don't really dance, so…" He was about to say more when his pager went off. "Guys checking in," Michael said, after having a look at the code on the pager. "I've gotta go find a phone." He pressed a kiss to Liz's temple. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay. I wonder why they paged Michael?" she murmured.

"He got promoted to shift supervisor," the doctor replied. "Didn't you know? Oh, he probably wanted it to be a surprise, and now I've ruined it."

"No, I don't think so," Liz replied. "Michael doesn't really care about titles."

"No, he doesn't, does he? He's a very unique young man."

"How do you know Michael?"

"I work late, quite often. I seem to get a lot more done when there's no one else there. Michael insists on walking me to my car when I'm finished for the night-says it isn't safe." She added with a rueful laugh, "I thought he had a bit of a crush on me. I have to admit, I was very flattered."

"He probably does," Liz replied, studying the doctor intently. She was probably close to forty, but she carried it well, dark red hair and a peaches-and-cream skin tone as smooth as a teenager, with only very fine lines around her green eyes to belie her true age. "Michael likes older women. He's eighteen, you know."

"Are you trying to set us up?" Sofia asked, humour in her tone.

"Michael and I are just friends," Liz replied. "I used to date his best friend, and he used to date mine. We commiserated together."

"Oh. Is that why he's glaring at every man who looks at you?"

"He's very protective. You might have noticed."

"I did. Is he an older brother?"

Liz thought of Max and Isabel. "Sort of," she replied, then changed the subject. "But I actually wanted to talk to you about your last article in Biometrics Magazine, on using hormone therapy to treat hereditary mental illness…"

oOo

When Michael came back, he found Sofia and Liz seated on a loveseat, holding court with several of the Meta-Chem scientists. Liz was still rocking Marcus with one hand, and when Michael came up to her with a glass of champagne, she smiled up at him brilliantly and said, "There you are. You promised to dance with me."

The words 'I don't dance' leapt to his lips, but he swallowed them. He could see envious glances from some of the higher-ups, and the vice president looked at Liz and remarked, "You certainly don't lack for partners. I would be more than happy to dance with you."

"Thank you, Martin, but I don't think I'll be on my feet for long in these shoes." She stood and threaded through the crowd to where Steve and Cheryl were dancing. "I'm going to put him down in the side room, okay?"

"Sure. Thank you, Liz," Steve replied with a smile. "This has been the best night out we've had in a long time."

"Anytime. I mean it," Liz replied. Michael trailed her into a parlor just off the main lobby of the hotel, where several parents had set play pens up and one of the hotel staff was reading a book and keeping one eye out for the older kids watching TV. Liz put Marcus down in one of the play pens and covered him with a light blanket. "Poor little man. Too much excitement for him."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Michael was feeling remarkably out of his depth. People who never looked twice at him in the course of a workday were watching him enviously. He'd been congratulated at the buffet and good-naturedly cursed at the bar. And now he had to dance. "Liz, I'll just step on your toes."

"My toes can take it. You promised, Michael."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied with a sigh. It wasn't just that he couldn't dance, although public humiliation hadn't been on his Christmas wish list. Holding Liz close in her red dress was sure to lead to embarassment of a more private kind.

The band started playing Eric Clapton's 'Layla' as Michael took her in his arms, a soft ballad accompanied by accoustic guitar. She smiled up at him wistfully. "I love this song."

Michael made a face. "Derek and the Dominoes."

"Huh?"

"The original version."

"The fast one? I never liked it. It's too…angry."

"It should be angry," Michael shot back. "Have you ever actually listened to the words? He's so in love it's torturing him-and she doesn't even _care._"

"I didn't know you were still that upset about Maria," Liz said after a stunned moment.

"I'm not still-"

"Well then why are you so angry?" She peered up at him, genuinely puzzled. "Is it Max? Because honestly, I'm not trying to lead him on-I just want us to be friends again, the way we-"

He covered her mouth with his fingertips and shook his head. "I'm not mad," he lied, knowing he had no right to be. The words rolled out, so suited to the moment it could have been a TV show soundtrack. He cringed. _I tried to give you consolation, when your old man had let you down. Like a fool, I fell in love with you, you turn my whole world upside down..._

"I don't think it's angry," she said when the song ended. "It's…sad. I wonder if he ever got her to love him back."

"It's just a song, Liz."

"I remember reading somewhere that he wrote it for a real person. I just wondered…"

"I don't think so." Michael smiled, a little ruefully. "Some things just aren't meant to be."

Disclaimer: I think you all have the idea by now, but just in case…all for Katims. None for me.

Author's Notes: I'm sorry! I am a bad, bad, mean mean girl for not updating sooner! I don't even have an excuse! You just mean to do things, don't you, and somehow they don't get done (for instance, right now I am supposed to be doing the dishes). But I'm sorry, and here it is, and hopefully the next bit gets done sooner.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I think you all have the idea by now, but just in case…all for Katims. None for me.

Author's Notes: I'm sorry! I am a bad, bad, mean mean girl for not updating sooner! I don't even have an excuse! You just mean to do things, don't you, and somehow they don't get done (for instance, right now I am supposed to be doing the dishes). But I'm sorry, and here it is, and hopefully the next bit gets done sooner.

Chapter 5

When Michael pulled up outside the Crashdown just after one, she asked him, "Do you want to come up?"

"Your parents-"

"Went to a restaraunteur's convention in Santa Fe," she said with a wicked smile, both innocent and knowing, one he'd seen her give Max and never hoped to have directed at him. "So you don't have to worry about my dad coming after you with a shotgun."

"Does he even have a shotgun?"

She shook her head, still grinning. "Besides, he lets me stay at your apartment. He trusts you."

"He trusts me as your friend. It's like you and Maria having a sleepover with Alex. I've already had this conversation with him. If we start dating and don't tell him, when he finds out, I will have a tragic meat-grinder accident."

"Then it's a good thing Mr. Seligman left a message on the answering machine about the whole Pam Troy thing."

"Liz, did you erase the message?"

"It was an accident!" she declared, giving him wide innocent eyes, but then she giggled and swayed in his grasp. "A tragic…meat-grinder…accident!"

He eyed her narrowly. She'd been a little…un-Liz-like the past couple of hours, more silly than usual, but he'd assumed she was just having fun. "How much champagne did you have?"

"Just one glass," she insisted. "It didn't taste good with that chocolate pie."

Michael closed his eyes in defeat, his head thunking back against the door. "The chocolate peppermint cream pie?"

"Umm, it was really good, Michael."

"I'll bet," he drawled. "It had Bailey's and Kailua in it. Come on, I'll take you to bed."

"Thought you weren't supposed to do that," she reminded him, draping her arms over his shoulders when he picked her up. "Meat-grinder. Scary stuff." She giggled and bit his earlobe.

Michael stumbled, and had to lock his knees to keep from landing on his ass. "Liz, cut it out," he snapped.

"Ooh. I'm in trouble now. Big bad Michael's gonna get me." She nibbled on the sensitive curve where his throat met his shoulder and gently scraped her fingernails over the back of his neck.

"Stop it," he ordered, but his hands were shaking again. He wanted to see the humor in the situation, but all he could see was the sparkle in her eyes and the shine of her hair; all he could feel was the curve of her hip and the beat of her heart. Somehow-pure dumb luck, he figured-he managed to navigate the stairs to the Parkers' apartment without falling or attacking Liz's mouth.

"There." He dropped her on her bed, and she bounced and giggled. "Get some sleep, Parker. I've gotta go."

"No," she insisted. "No, don't leave. What if you never come back?" Her hand caught at his. "What if there is a ship, Michael?"

"The one and only ship the Air Force had was a lemon," Michael reminded her. "Even Cal couldn't fly it. This is probably just a stupid rumor."

"Or a trap," Liz muttered petulantly.

"It'll be fine," he assured her. "I'll be back in a couple of days."

"Michael, please don't go to Texas. I just have this awful feeling that if you do…I'm never going to see you again."

"Honey, you've just had too much to drink," he soothed her, stroking a loose curl back from her face. "Nothing bad is gonna happen."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise. I'll be back by Saturday. Bowling night, remember? You were gonna fill in for Monk while he's at his folks' in Flagstaff."

"I remember."

"There's no way I'm gonna let an alien crisis get in the way of bowling night." He grinned, relieved when she smiled back. "I'll call you in the morning, once we're on the road."

"Promise?"

"Sure. I promise." He unbuckled her shoes and slid them off her feet. By the time he draped a blanket over her, she was already asleep.

oOo

When Michael got home, Max was waiting, unimpressed. "How was the party?" he asked in an icy voice.

"It was…fun."

"Yeah, I can see that. You have lipstick on your neck," he added bitterly.

"Not in the mood for this, Maxwell," Michael muttered as he started to pack.

"You were either making out with Liz, or making out with some skank when it was Liz you invited. I'm not sure which is worse."

"Liz had too much champagne. I carried her up to bed and she drooled on my shoulder." He swiped at his neck, using a quick power flare to heal any possible hard-to-explain hickeys. "Now can we drop this?"

"I don't like you spending so much time with her."

"Who else do we have? Maria's in New York, Isabel's doing the newlywed thing, and Kyle's working twenty-six hours a day trying to keep up with the bills. You're not exactly around, and when you are, you're wrapped up in the alien chaos. You always used to say you wished we'd get along better. Well, now we do."

"That was when-"

"When you and Liz were together," Michael finished for him. "It was okay for us to get along when it made your life easier. Now that we're friends and it doesn't include you, you don't like it."

"It isn't that."

"Fine, whatever. You know what, Maxwell, right now I really don't care. Let's just get this over with," Michael suggested, slinging a battered army-surplus duffel over one shoulder.

"Fine. Let's go."

oOo

Michael slept in the Chevelle on their way out of town. They were driving east on 380, and the sunrise woke him up just outside of Lubbock. He hissed and covered his eyes with both hands.

"And whose bright idea was it to leave Monday night?" Max asked, but there was a light tone to his voice that Michael hadn't heard for a while. Could it be? Was El Presidente actually feeling…cheerful?

He cautiously opened his eyes to slits while he dug around for sunglasses. He sighed once they were on, not caring that the aviators probably looked ridiculous. "I can drive for a while, if you want."

"Okay. I figured we'd stop for breakfast in Idalou. We can switch then."

"You're in an awfully good mood," Michael remarked neutrally, trying to squish that perverse part of him that was determined to poke at things until they broke or bit him. What he really wanted to ask was, _How did you manage to remove the stick from your ass and drive at the same time?_

But that probably wouldn't be smart.

"It's the ship. I have this feeling…"

"Yeah, there's a lot of that going around," Michael muttered.

"What?"

"Oh, Liz said she had a bad feeling…be extra super careful and call to check in and take a sweater. Mom stuff."

He played it light and sarcastic for Max, but it had meant a lot to him to have Liz so concerned for his welfare. He tried to tell himself it was stupid; Liz was naturally warmhearted and they were friends now, and even back in the barely-civil days she certainly hadn't wanted him dead. But hope was a sneaky bastard, always with the springing eternal. Her affection as he'd carried her upstairs and the tremor in her voice when she'd said, _Please don't go…what if you never come back?_ had been enough to stir up stupid rose-tinted images that were better suited to a romantic novel than the average guy's brain. It was pretty pitiful, he guessed, when he could have a very satisfying fantasy about a very hot girl that had nothing to do with sex.

The sun slid higher as they stopped for breakfast in Idalou, where the food was identical to that of diners everywhere, including the Crashdown, but instead of Unidentified Fried Objects, the waitress called his over-easy eggs, pancakes, hash browns and bacon a Big Sky Special. Max ordered waffles and coffee with an honest-to-Antar smile on his face.

Michael made a silent vow to keep from destroying the easy silence between them, but he doubted he'd be able to last as far as Denton. Mention Liz once too often, and he figured Max's sunny mood would cloud up and rain all over him.

It was creeping toward ten when Michael decided to call Liz, and started looking for a rest stop or a gas station, anywhere that would have a pay phone.

"What is it?" Max asked rather sleepily.

"I need to make a phone call."

"Liz?"

Michael winced. "She's worried. Bad feeling, remember? I told her I'd call."

"Use my phone."

"Thanks." Michael began wondering vaguely if Max had been replaced by a pod person. He dialed, and the ring back tone was enough to give away his king's motivations. Max's cell was set to a volume usually reserved for hard-of-hearing octogenarians and aging rock stars. He'd hear every word of what Michael would have preferred to be a private conversation.

"Hello?" Liz whispered.

"Hey, Parker, how you feeling?"

"Owww."

"Yeah, I figured," he replied with a chuckle.

"Michael, I can hear you, you don't have to yell," she hissed.

"I'm not yelling honey, that's your head."

"Ow," she agreed, sounding slightly more awake, and Michael heard a soft rustle. "I slept in my dress."

"Well, you weren't in any shape to get your PJ's on yourself, and I wasn't about to go where no man has gone before. You're a cute drunk, Parker."

"I only had one glass of champagne!" she retorted indignantly.

"And three pieces of chocolate pie."

"Oh. Right." She sighed. "They really should have put up a sign or something. Chocolate and Kailua is dangerous."

"Don't forget the baileys."

"I'd like to," she retorted. "You're enjoying my misery just a little too much. Um. Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Why were we talking about a meat grinder? I remember that…and lots of laughing."

"Tell you later," he offered, making a deliberate effort not to glance at Max.

"Kay. Where are you?"

"On our way to Dallas. Still having that bad feeling?"

"The only bad feeling I have right now is a hangover," she retorted dryly, then added, "But please call when you get there."

"Dallas, or Lone Star?"

"Both."

"Damn, Parker, you're keeping me on a short leash," he teased. "How am I supposed to gamble or drink or go to strip clubs with you checking up all the time?"

"You're not," she drawled. "I'll see you on Saturday."

"Uh-huh."

"Be careful."

"Yeah, you know me."

"I do," she agreed. "Which is why I want you to be careful. Extra careful, even. If you pull a Michael, I'm never making you cookies again."

"That's a serious threat. No impulsive stunts, I promise."

"Then I'll make cookies for bowling night."

"You know, Liz, you feed a stray, and you're stuck with it for life," Michael told her, and it was supposed to come out like a joke, but it didn't.

"Counting on it. Oh, God, coffee. You set up the coffeemaker and then called to wake me up and now there's coffee. I love you," she said with such feeling it made his breath hitch.

"You owe me pizza," he countered.

"Uh-huh, whatever you want, name it. I need to be alone with the coffee now. Bye, Michael."

"Bye, Liz," he said to the dial tone. Ditched for caffeinated bean water. But he still couldn't have wiped away his grin with a sledgehammer.

"You called her 'honey.' "

Michael felt the grin slide off his face like a fried egg off a plastic spatula. And the sunny mood was over. Michael figured playing stupid was his best defense, plus it had the weight of tradition behind it. "Huh? I can assure you, Maxwell, that word has never crossed my lips."

"Do you want me to call Liz and ask?"

_I don't think 'no' is a strong enough word…_ "Okay, you're obviously determined to pick a fight, so go ahead. Just don't take a swing at me while I'm driving."

"Since when are you the calm one?" Max snarled.

"Since you lost your grip on reality!" Michael retorted. And suddenly the truth came spilling out without his consent, like Liz saying 'I love you,' even in play, had short-circuited his brain. "Probably the only person who _doesn't_ know how I feel about Liz, is Liz! Because you were right, Max, she doesn't see me that way and she never will!" Michael felt that tremble in his gut that usually preceded things exploding without his consent and took a few desperate gulps of air, trying to calm down. "Happy now?"

"No," he ground out, sounding as shaky and pissed-off as Michael felt.

"Good. Then maybe you could not bring it up again." Michael turned up the stereo and slammed the accelerator into the floor. _Let's get this over with._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Mine, all mine_-_in the Bizzaro World.

Author's Notes: There really is a place called Lone Star, Texas. Did actual research for this one, folks, including figuring out where Michael would be if they left the Roswell city limits by two and the sunrise woke him up in late December heading east. Mucho thanks and big hugs for the people behind Google Maps, the VerizonLocal site for Roswell, New Mexico, the Texas Board of Tourism, and the Lone Star, Texas Chamber of Commerce.

And also, I have updated and corrected the timeline in previous chapters for the events leading up to this chapter, using my old daytimer from senior year (knew I kept it for a reason!). Going by the actual calendar for 2001/2002 (accuracy? Gee, what a concept!) Michael and Liz got their revenge on Pam Troy on _Friday_, Isabel's Christmas party was on _Tuesday_, and Max and Michael left for Lone Star late _Wednesday_ night, after the Meta-Chem holiday party. I know at least one of my readers is as picky as I am, and was counting on her fingers and going, _WTF?_ Sorry 'bout that.

Chapter Six

The Chevelle was making alarming noises when they reached Lone Star, every last one of her horses huffing and puffing. The tension in the car was thick enough to cut with an alien death ray. Michael did his best to shake it off because this was their lives hanging in the balance, unless it was just another dead end, and he might kind of want Max dead at the moment but he didn't want a bunch of spook-suits doing the job for him.

"All right, so where is it?" Michael asked.

"Don't you think we need some sleep first?" Max inquired, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

_No, I think I need to get back to Roswell and out of this car before I commit regicide._ "There isn't gonna be a ship, Maxwell. The sooner I prove it to you, the sooner I can go home. I can only take so many sick days."

"All right. It's at an abandoned warehouse outside of town. Turn left up here."

Michael followed Max's directions and parked outside the warehouse. The Chevelle's engine ticked as it cooled, and no one came out to get them. In fact, there was a heavy layer of dirt and rust on everything, and Michael doubted there had been anyone near the place in a decade.

They didn't even need their powers to get inside-the lock on the door was broken. The inside of the building didn't house anything besides old boxes and a couple of bird nests. "See? Nothing but a stupid rumour."

_Or a trap._

The memory of Liz's words struck him with such force that he tackled Max to the floor before he could reason himself out of it, and the agent standing in the doorway who had been aiming for Max hit Michael instead.

oOo

"Think it's clean yet?" Jeff asked his daughter, a wry grin on his face.

"Huh?" Liz looked up from the floor.

"You've been mopping the same tile for the past five minutes. Something wrong, kiddo?"

"Um."

"Come on, you can talk to me."

"No, I really can't. You'll go after Michael with the meat grinder." Several cups of coffee later, she'd remembered their conversation.

"Should I?" Jeff asked, his lips thinning.

"No. Dad, he didn't do anything. He wouldn't. That's…that's kind of the problem." With a sigh, Liz leaned the mop handle against the counter and hopped up into one of the stools, stripping off her rubber gloves. She left them inside out in a puddle of yellow and looked down, picking at her cuticles. "Michael and I…we're really close. Sometimes I think I'm closer to him than I ever was to anybody. I know him well enough…well, he's never gonna make a move. We could be the last two people on earth and he wouldn't."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know for sure," she admitted, brow furrowed. "I have my theories, but sometimes he surprises me. Maybe it's because of Max and Maria, although I kind of doubt it. It's not like either of them is around much, these days…" she trailed off.

"What do you really think, kiddo?"

She flushed. "It sounds conceited, but…I think maybe…he doesn't want to risk it. Like I mean too much to him for him to risk screwing it up."

"Maybe you do. You know him better than I do, Liz. But if you want the guy view, I'll tell you this much-the more you love somebody, the more terrifying it is to even think about telling them. You feel like it's better to have them partially than lose them completely."

Liz thought about that for a minute. "That's really messed up, Dad," she said at last.

"Yeah," he agreed, a funny expression on his face, like he was remembering something that used to hurt. "It usually is."

Something about what her Dad had said made her think about something Michael had said, when she'd asked him if he still wanted to go back to Antar, or at least get out of Roswell, have _more._ He'd said, _Sometimes you gotta take what you can get and be grateful, Liz. Always looking for more just screws things up._

"Maybe you're right," she said softly. "I mean, maybe I should just leave it alone. I had so much drama with Max…it's nice to have somebody that I can have fun with." The words struck a chord, and Liz closed her eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of _GrammaClaudia._ Sometimes it felt like, with everything that had happened, Liz hadn't really taken the time to miss her properly. It struck her at odd moments.

Her grandmother had said almost those excact words when they were discussing Kyle. Her tone had been kind, no judgement or dissapointment, when she'd told Liz that not every relationship had to be the be-all and end-all, a soulmate.

_But what if there is someone who could potentially be…_

Liz always thought that epiphanies were things that you had at the perfect moment; contemplating eternal questions under the stars, maybe, or as you were snatched from the jaws of death with your life flashing before your eyes. Not with a faint hangover throbbing at the base of your skull and mismatched socks on and cheap turquoise vinyl stuck to the backs of your knees while you ignored the floor still waiting to be mopped.

It was going to be complicated. It was terribly complicated on every possible level, aliens and exes and…Michael, who always managed to surprise her just when she thought she had him figured out. But through all the complications she knew two things absolutely. He would never let her be hurt if he could possibly help it. And when she was with him, she felt a strange balance of happiness and peace.

And he was in Texas.

"Dammit!" she burst out. Typical Guerin move. She finally figures things out and he doesn't even have the decency to be around so she can tell him. Even as she thought it, Liz knew she was being completely ridiculous. Michael had pretty much said his piece three years ago, and she'd sat there like an oblivious lump and done nothing. At the rate she was going, if he hung around until she borrowed a clue, they might have been in matching rocking chairs at the Desert Inn Retirement Community. _Thank you for giving me one more reason to envy Max Evans._

In retrospect, duh.

Her headache flared up into a full-body ache, and Liz almost moaned as she stood, wanting to get the mopping finished before the lunch rush. But standing became falling, and her body went cold all over and suddenly she was on the floor with no idea how she got there, struggling to breathe through the weight of the invisible anvil on her chest. Her last thought was, _I remember this. This is what it felt like to be shot._

oOo

A/N: I'm a terrible, terrible bitch for ending it there. I know. But I didn't leave you hanging, at least-there's another chapter! And how could I not reference the scene in 'Missing'? It was at that point that I fell completely and irrevocably in love with Michael Guerin, and cast Max Evans aside, to be shunned forever, world without end, amen.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own the DVD box sets, and, er…that's it.

A/N: I love you all. You stuck with me through a severe lack of internet connection and my thanks is many, many chapters at once-this is the second-to-last chapter of _The Light,_ but this is a trilogy, 'member? And I have also posted the first five chapters of _The Heat_.

Chapter Seven

The crackling green of the force field was enough to keep the swarm of agents at bay, but Max knew he couldn't keep it up for long, never mind keep the shield up and heal Michael at the same time. And they were blocking the only exit from the place.

He was sitting in a spreading pool of blood and there wasn't enough time to consider the morality or the risks of what he was about to do. He used one hand to shift the force field over their heads and with the other, brought the whole building down around them.

When Max pulled them both out of the rubble, Michael was trying to breathe his own blood, but there were sirens approaching and not enough time to stop. Max started the car and prayed it was up to a little off-roading.

It was either a steep hill or a small cliff, depending on how you looked at it. There was a road at the bottom, so Max looked at it as an escape route. There was an alarming screech from the undercarriage when they went over a small boulder set into the incline, but it didn't puncture the gas tank and he was grateful for small miracles. The patrol car following them wasn't as lucky, and rolled until it hit the gully between the hill and the road. He turned left and followed it to I-85, where he stopped at a rest area and parked out of sight behind the sign advertising the lovely panoramic view of absolutely nothing at all. Three white crown vics screamed by while Max shook Michael desperately. "You have to look at me!"

Michael's eyes fluttered, then closed.

"Damn it, Michael! For once would you just do what I tell you!"

That earned him a feeble glare, and his hand flexed over the bullet wound. The whole world became the stuttering beat of Michael's heart, and Max was hit with a rush of images.

Liz.

Liz eating pizza.

Liz drunk and giggling.

Liz in sweatpants and bunny slippers, beating Michael over the head with a pillow while he tried to stop laughing long enough to fend her off.

Liz sleeping through a hockey game.

Liz studying and chewing on a pen cap.

Liz crying on Isabel's patio.

Just when Max thought he wouldn't be able to take any more, Michael dragged in air and choked on it, and his heart took on a more natural rhythm. Max sagged back in the front seat. "Thank God."

It took Michael a few minutes, but he managed to sit up and drawl a sarcastic, "Can we go home yet?"

"Yeah. There's nothing here for me." And Max had to accept that he wasn't just talking about the ship.

oOo

Even after a molecular patch job, the Chevelle limped back into Roswell late Saturday. They'd had to stop in Dallas for a few hours' sleep, and then they'd been stranded on their way out of Arlington by the leak they'd missed in the radiator. Michael hadn't been able to get through on Liz's cell phone or the Parker's home line on the way back, so their first stop was the Crashdown.

"She probably just got busy, Michael. Post-Christmas rush."

"She was worried," Michael replied succinctly. "She should have called." He hopped out before Max had a chance to park and headed for the glass front doors. "Hey, Shelly," he called to the blond manning the cash register. "Liz around?"

"Oh, Michael, Jeff and Nancy have been trying to get ahold of you. Liz is in the hospital."

Michael's legs almost gave out. "What? What's wrong?"

"They don't know," Shelly replied, frowning. "That's why they kept her so long. She just…collapsed. She went into shock, and her blood pressure dropped. She wasn't bleeding anywhere, but they had to give her a blood transfusion. She almost died."

"When was this?"

"Thursday morning."

Right about the time he'd been bleeding to death in the passenger seat of the Chevelle. Jesus.

Michael broke every speed limit on his way to the hospital, even knowing he wouldn't do Liz any good if he ended up an 80-mile-an-hour smear on the pavement. But he still wasn't fast enough, because the idiot nurses wouldn't let him in.

"Visiting hours are over, young man. It's eight o'clock. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Fuck that!" Michael raged, and one of the women paged Security. "She almost died! I have to see her!"

Nancy Parker came out of the waiting room, looking ten years older than she had the week before. "Michael? It's okay," she said to the nurse. "He's family."

Nurse Ratchet scowled, but she stepped aside. "He gets ten minutes."

"What happened?" Michael demanded, then felt stupid, because he already knew.

Nancy was shaking her head. "We don't know. God, we don't know, but we almost lost her. A specialist is coming in tomorrow to do some tests. Liz has been asking for you."

"Can I see her?"

"I think she's still awake. Jeff's with her." Nancy took his arm and led him to a room down the hall, then knocked on the open door. "Liz? Honey? There's someone here to see you."

She turned toward the door, and her eyes smiled. "Michael, hey. How was Texas?"

"A waste of time. You look like hell, Parker," he said before he thought, then winced at his blunt words. He was too relieved to see that she was in one piece and able to talk to censor his mouth.

"Thanks a lot," she retorted with a wry smile. "You want to help me bust out of here?"

"Not gonna happen. We need to find out what's wrong."

"I think I already know." She shifted in bed, sitting up a little more, then said to her father, "Give us a minute, okay?"

"Okay." Jeff Parker kissed her cheek. "But then you need to get some rest."

"That's all I've been doing since I got here," she complained fretfully. "Much more of this, and I'll need a rest from having to rest."

Michael sat on the edge of the bed and took both her hands. "I'm the one who got shot. How come you ended up in the hospital?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Her smile faded. "It was a trap?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have to run?"

"No. I don't think so. Even if we do, I'm not going anywhere," he confessed.

"I am." Liz sat up, one hand going to the heart monitor on her index finger. "Can you help me get this thing off?"

"Liz-"

"I'm not hurt, Michael. I was fine by the time I got here, even."

"Then why do you look like you were run over by a truck?"

"Because." Her eyes filled, and she said a little reproachfully, "I thought you'd died. No one could get ahold of you."

"Max's cell got a little beat up during our escape. We finally figured out that it wasn't ringing for incoming calls. I called from Dallas and again from Lubbock, but you weren't answering your cell, and your parents' answering machine was refusing more messages. I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry I scared you, too," she replied softly, turning one of her hands under his and linking their fingers together. "You probably freaked out when I didn't call to nag you like I said I would."

His heart had taken up residence in his throat. "Just a little."

"Promise me something."

"Sure."

"No more quests. No more ships. No matter what Max finds. Promise you won't go with him again."

"Liz, I have to," he reminded her.

"Protecting him isn't your job anymore, Michael. Tess left. It's over. The Skins are dead, the Granolith's gone, and the only welcome you'll get if you find a way back is a public execution. I don't want to lose you."

Michael opened his mouth to explain about genetic design and destiny, then closed it. That little voice he called a conscience could yell and scream if it wanted to. She'd almost died, and all she wanted from him was a promise that he wouldn't leave. If the psychiatrists were to be believed, you weren't supposed to obey the voices in your head, anyway. "I promise."

"Thank you." She closed her eyes briefly, her hand squeezing his. "One more thing."

"Anything."

"I want to go home. Please."

"Liz-"

"The only thing all those tests might find is something that will put us all in danger. I've had enough danger. Please take me home."

He wiped his thumb gently over the circles under her eyes, erasing them. "I'll go talk to the doctor."

"Wait."

"What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "I love you."

He blinked. "Uh, Liz?" he said after a moment.

"What?"

"Did you have auditory hallucinations after _you_ got shot?"

She started to laugh. "I love you, Michael," she said again. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"You mean…"

"I mean." She smiled, her eyes glowing like someone had set a candle behind them.

Michael tried to find the right words, but there weren't any. Not for this. He leaned forward a little, and Liz tilted her face up, and suddenly they were kissing, and his hands were shaking again, and he discovered that he didn't need words after all.

The water in the pitcher next to Liz's bed started to boil. But their world had narrowed down to two pairs of lips and the perfect circle of each other's arms, and neither one of them noticed.


	8. Chapter 8

oOo

Disclaimer: These people used to be Katims'. I…well, I don't want to use the word 'stole,' but…dammit, he just wouldn't share!!! It's not like he's used them lately, and I promise to put them back when I'm done.

A/N: So it's the END! Well, sort of. It took me a ridiculously long time to get here, and I just want to say, you guys, with your patience-of-a-saint having re: my deplorable lack of consistency when it comes to updates, my promise-breaking (I meant _next_ Valentine's Day. Swear.) and my cruel cliffhangery tendencies, plus all your fabulous warm and fuzzy reviews that keep my Inner Review Junkie so well fed, she is getting pudgy…well, y'all rock on with socks on, that's all there is to it. With the massive amounts of incredible fic on this site, hell, in the Roswell section alone, it is a supreme compliment that I've received so many hits, inquiring e-mails, and even new reviews, so many months since my last post, and it's given me the confidence to send the first chapter of my novel (one with characters I actually came up with all by myself!) to some publishers and literary agents. I literally couldn't have done it without you. Thanks. And I promise I'm done with the huge rambly A/Ns! Really! Now then, on with the fic.

Chapter Eight

"Well, you seem to be feeling better."

Liz pulled away, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks as her gaze moved from Michael to her parents in the doorway. "Hi, Dad."

"Ah, Mr. Parker, I uh…" He winced. He really wanted to say, _This isn't what it looks like,_ but it was _exactly_ what it looked like.

"I told you, call me Jeff." He was grinning. "I know this is a first offense, so we'll leave the meat grinder out of it unless you tell me this isn't what it looks like."

"Uh, Liz?" he said in a low voice, for her ears only. "Does your Dad have the Czechoslovakian mind-reading gene?"

"Not as far as I know," she replied, giggling. "It's a Dad thing."

"Michael, are you going to join us for the holiday?" Nancy Parker asked, watching the two of them hold hands with a smile that could only be described as _smug._

Liz saw _What holiday?_ written across Michael's face and murmured, "Crashdown New Year's."

Crashdown New Year's was a Parker family tradition. All the other staff had the night off, and the Parkers ran a bingo game, served a buffet, and had music and dancing for members of the Desert Inn Retirement Community with no family nearby. They had 'midnight' at ten-thirty so everyone could get home early. It was totally cornball, and Michael couldn't think of anything he'd rather do. "Sure."

"We should call Hal and see if he can come up from Tampa," Liz suggested.

"Actually he, ah, he's visiting his daughter in Barstow. He's going to stop here on his way back, on Saturday."

"It is Saturday, Michael," Liz reminded him gently.

"Oh. Right. I should call him."

"Help me get out of here first?"

"Lizzie, you know what the doctors said. Until we have an explaination-"

"Dad, really, I'm okay. I feel fine, I'm just tired of the nurses waking me up every two hours and I want to sleep in my own bed. Please."

"She really does look a lot better, Jeff," Nancy pointed out.

"I already missed bowling, Mom. I don't want to be in here for New Year's, too."

"Bowling?" Michael repeated blankly.

"League night?" Liz prompted. "Clash of the Titans? Meta-Chem vs. Tony's Garage? I was really looking forward to it. I was gonna make cookies and everything."

"Oh, God, the guys are gonna kill me," Michael moaned.

"It's only eight-thirty. You can still make it."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I'll tell them my girlfriend was in the hospital. They'll understand."

"You mean, you'll tell them your girlfriend was getting out of the hospital, right?" she prompted, watching her parents expectantly.

"Lizzie…"

"Daddy…"

He sighed, shrugged, scuffed at the floor with one toe. "We'll talk to your doctor, okay? He should be doing final rounds in a couple of minutes. We'll see what he says."

"I'll get my stuff." Liz swung her legs off the bed, then paused. "Um, Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you could go call Hal, make sure he got in all right?"

"I'll wait until we get you out of here."

"Michael. I'm wearing a hospital gown." Seeing that he still didn't get it, she suggested gently, "You could maybe step out for five minutes while I change into something a little less backless."

"Right. I'll, ah, I'll go call Hal."

Liz bit her lip on a smile. "That's a good idea."

"Okay. I'll be right back." He started to stand, glanced at the Parkers, then muttered, "Hell with it," and kissed her goodbye.

oOo

Liz was still a little shaky, more, she thought, due to worry and interrupted sleep than anything else. But she was able to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater without help, and she didn't get a head rush tieing her sneakers.

The doctor reluctantly admitted that she was perfectly healthy now, and that there was no medical need for a specialist other than curiousity. When Liz insisted on being discharged, he aknowledged that the sudden anemia and fainting spell could be attributed to a couple of heavy menstrual cycles and working a shift at the Crashdown without eating breakfast first.

"I'm okay now, and that's what counts. Right?"

"I suppose…"

"Thanks, Dr. Barnes. I'll see you later." Liz picked up her backpack, Michael relieved her of it with a warning frown, and she was on her way out the door.

"Bed rest!" The doctor called after her. "And remember to take those iron supplements!"

"I will! Bye!"

A half-hour later, Michael came out of the Crashdown kitchen to find Liz opening packages of streamers and cardboard cutouts covered in gold foil. "This doesn't look like bed rest."

"I have to get the decorations up for New Year's," she explained, climbing up on a table with a handful of pushpins. "Mom and Dad always do the food, and I do the decorations."

"I don't think so. Not this year." He lifted her, his hands almost spanning her waist, and set her back on the ground. "Keep your parents occupied upstairs for a half-hour before the party, and I'll put the decorations up."

"But I don't know where I want everything," she protested.

"Draw me a sketch," he suggested. "From bed."

"Michael Guerin!" she teased.

"Of the decorations, Liz," he stressed. "Show me how you want them placed and I'll do it."

"I really am all right. You know that," she reminded him.

"You really scared me to _death,_ do you know that?" he retorted. "I was the one who got shot, Liz! What happened to you was weird even for us, and until we know what happened, and why, you need to be careful, because I am too young for a heart attack! That means no climbing on tables where you could fall and break your neck!"

She blinked a couple of times. "You yelled at me," she said, astonished.

_Way to go, Guerin. Yell at the girl you love for almost dying. _"I'm sorry." He scratched at his eyebrow. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"No, Michael, you yelled at me." She started to smile. "You trust me enough to get mad at me sometimes."

_Huh?_ But apparently he'd done something right, so he decided to keep his confusion to himself. "Well, I'm not liking it too much, so maybe you could try not doing anything risky for a couple of days?"

"Sure. I'll just go upstairs and lie down." She kissed his cheek and went into the back.

Michael just shook his head a couple of times. "I will never understand women."

oOo

Hal Carver thought it was hilarious that Michael worked at the Crashdown Café. "Son, you mean to tell me that you're spending New Year's serving alien food?"

He grinned. "You think that's crazy? Max works at the UFO Museum."

Hal laughed so hard he had to sit down. "So where's that firecracker of yours?"

"Remember when I told you that whatever was between us, it was over?"

"I'm not senile," he grumbled.

"Well, it's really over. She's in New York."

"Couldn't handle the truth?"

"Something like that." Michael watched as Liz and Jeff set up an old turntable and a few speakers, then set the needle. Big band music started playing, and Michael winced. It wasn't exactly Metallica. But Liz was smiling, bouncing along to the music as she went from table to table saying hello and passing out resolutions for the cactus, wearing a red velvet tank top and a cute jean skirt that was far too short for Michael's peace of mind.

"Who's the dish?" Hal asked, following his gaze.

"That's Liz. My girlfriend," he added, savoring the words and the knowledge that out of all the guys who wanted Liz Parker, she'd picked him.

She'd noticed him noticing her and came over to their table. "Michael, Dad needs help bringing out the entrees, and I'm apparently suddenly incapable of lifting a tray."

"I don't want you carrying anything either. I'll get it."

"You must be Captain Carver," Liz said, smiling at Hal. "It's so good to meet you."

"It's good to meet you too, young lady," Hal replied, standing and extending one hand for her to shake.

Liz drew him into a hug. "Thank you for everything. When you saved them, you saved my life."

"I didn't really do all that much," he muttered, looking down.

"Maybe. But it means a lot to me. Thank you."

Uncomfortable with her gratitude, he suggested, "How about a dance and we'll call it even?"

"Deal," Liz agreed with a smile, accepting his hand as the opening bars of _In The Mood_ filled the room.

Michael came out of the kitchen to see Liz and Hal putting on a rather athletic performance in perfect time to the music. He didn't know who to be worried about first. But when they finished with a flourish, and to warm applause, he decided to let it go. They were both all right, and at least Liz wasn't climbing on tables. "Making time with my girl, Hal?"

"Son, if I was fifty years younger, I'd give you a run for your money. Liz, you're quite the dancer."

"Thank you. So are you." She smiled. "Michael indulges me every once in a while, but he doesn't really like dancing in public."

"Or in private," Michael put in.

"That's a pity, Michael. Pretty girl like her, you should be showing her off."

"And have to beat up every guy in school for looking at her butt? No, thank you." He held out his hand to Liz. "Come on, Parker, dinner is served."

"Michael, I don't think one dance would have every guy in school looking at my butt!" she protested as he handed her a plate at the buffet.

He snorted. "Hah! Do you know how many faces Kyle had to break the summer you were dating?"

She frowned. "He said he and his friends were just messing around."

"Do you know how many times Max caught your little science club study buddies checking you out? It used to drive him nuts. I am not looking forward to getting suspended."

"You won't get suspended because you're not going to fight anybody," she insisted. "I am not Vicky Delaney, and you will not need to defend my honor behind the bleachers after last bell. Everybody at school already thinks we're dating anyway."

"Yes, but now we are, so when Malamud shoots his mouth off I'll have to bust his teeth for it instead of just ignoring him."

"Michael. Malamud's a pig. If you fight with him, he'll just be a pig with broken teeth. I don't care what he says about me, and you shouldn't either. I picked you."

"Why?" he said before he thought, then had one of those _aha_ moments. Months ago, Max had told him that he wasn't good enough for Liz, and it would have ticked him off if he hadn't agreed. Liz had kissed him, had said _I love you._ The Parkers had welcomed him like an honorary son. But a part of him was waiting for someone to pop out and crow, 'Smile! You're on Candid Camera!' Because it just didn't make sense to him. "Why did you pick me, Liz?"

"Because I'm happy when I'm with you," she replied simply. "Gramma Claudia used to say that I would know the right man when I found him, because he would make my heart smile. Every time I see you. Every time I think about you, even when we've argued…you make my heart smile. I don't know how else to explain it."

"No, that's good," Michael said, still a little mystified, but he could deal with confusion if it was accompanied by this kind of happiness. "That's a good way to explain it."

Liz called bingo numbers. Michael bussed tables. And as they counted down to Crashdown midnight, Liz said, "You know, the way you spend New Year's is supposed to be the way you spend the whole rest of the year."

Since he currently had Liz in his arms while they waited for Jeff to light the cactus, Michael decided he could get behind that. She was singing _Auld Lang Syne_, and she actually had a good voice. Michael didn't think he'd ever heard her sing before. She wasn't as showy as Maria, just a soft, sweet soprano, a beauty that was only noticed by someone paying attention.

He decided he was going to be the one paying attention. He held on a little tighter and watched as the fire licked at an alien head with the heavy-handed scrawl of a resolution or a vow. _To make her heart smile._

oOo

A/N: That's all she wrote. Okay, that's a lie. In Your Eyes: The Heat is next.


End file.
